<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Father's Protection by StarsandJellyfish</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091427">A Father's Protection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsandJellyfish/pseuds/StarsandJellyfish'>StarsandJellyfish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Parent Sam Winchester, Psychic Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Season/Series 05, Slow Burn, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:21:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>108,702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsandJellyfish/pseuds/StarsandJellyfish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam meets up with Ruby after leaving Dean behind in that motel, he finds himself with an enormous surprise on his hands. Turns out, Sam's a father. Of course, it doesn't help that there's an Apocalypse to stop (that he started, he knows), a brother who doesn't want to know him, and an archangel who very obviously doesn't like him, and wants to take his son off his hands. </p><p>Desperate to save the world, Sam finds some friends to help him along the way, and somehow manages to swing an angry archangel onto his side. But will it be enough to stop the apocalypse for good? Will it be enough to save his family?</p><p>*****On Hiatus*****</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gabriel/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone, </p><p>I hope you enjoy this story, as it's stuck with me for a while. It's half-way completed, and seeing as I've got a month of no work, I can get it completed soon. </p><p>This chapter does have canon-typical violence in it, and a description of Sam drinking a demon's blood, as he does in the show. If this is something likely to affect you, I'd suggest not reading the chapter.  </p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave a comment if you wish. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter One </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had been hibernating for years when he was awoken, the tremble of a great<em> something</em> arriving in the world. It was new, not something he had ever seen before, and he had seen a lot in his time. He’d watched galaxies created, stars being born, worlds being moulded into shape, but this was different. It was innocent and blackened, shining bright and gleaming dully, two natures combined and battling as he stirred from his slumber.</p>
<p>     As he roused, stretching his form out to it’s true size, enormous, glowing, terrifying, he felt it’s nature turn on itself, warring for dominance. Twisted evil fought to subdue shimmering goodness, struggled to defeat the light, wash it out entirely, but the light continued glowing. It swirled and whirled itself around the blackness, tightening it’s hold until the black was compressed into a small seed. Twining itself into a length of silken rope, the light penetrated the stony seed, drilling down into it’s very heart.</p>
<p>     Pierced through, the seed didn’t last long. Light overtook the dark, with no corruption and no interruption, until only the magnificent white remained. No darkness ran through the nature, no evil or corruption or temptation. Only purity was left, innocent and young, ready to be shaped, moulded.</p>
<p>     The wakening creature knew that with the wrong guidance this light would be led down the wrong path, would find itself greyed once more, blackened sooty with Hellfire and demonic smoke. Such innocent power from such a dark source could not be left to guide itself, could not be left in greedy hands.</p>
<p>     The creature unfurled himself, mind made up:<em> he </em>was going to guide this new hope.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With trembling limbs, Sam slammed the lid of the trunk down. Muffled screams were still audible, but he ignored them, setting his shoulders stubbornly. He wouldn’t be fooled by the woman’s screams. Ruby and he had ensured that the demon couldn’t get out of the vessel, and though it was a terrible, awful thing he was going to have to do, they couldn’t afford the time to find an empty vessel. If they wanted to stop Lilith from breaking the last seal, from raising Lucifer, they had to do it now. Lilith wasn’t going to wait for them.</p>
<p>     Running shaking hands through his hair, Sam turned away from the car briefly. Ruby wasn’t inside it, wasn’t anywhere near, and a well of gladness sprung up within him that she wasn’t there to see his panic. God, but if Dean were with him… Well, if Dean were with him, he wouldn’t be in this situation. But for some reason, Dean didn’t think that stopping Lilith was important. At least, not important enough to damn his soul to Hell for. Sam disagreed. Surely the world and every single person on it was worth damning himself for?</p>
<p>     With a last panicked tug to his hair, Sam turned back to the car and climbed into the driver’s side, tightly clenching white-tipped fingers around the steering wheel. If Ruby wasn’t back soon, he was going to leave without her, no matter how useful she would be in the fight. There wasn’t<em> time</em>, and she knew that. They <em>had</em> to defeat Lilith,<em> had</em> to stop her from unleashing the apocalypse, because who else was going to do it? The angels didn’t appear to be making any attempts against her, and God knew where Dean was, other than pissed and, Sam thought with a wince, probably nursing the wounds he’d left his brother with.</p>
<p>     Shame coursed through his body. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dean so badly, but fear was running rampant in his veins at the time. It was hardly an excuse, but the voice in his head, the voice that sounded so much like Dean, was screaming ‘<em>if I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you’</em> over and over and over. Maybe Sam was a terrible person for believing the voice, maybe he wasn’t, but the fear was there, screaming at him, and it had run its course, leaving his brother a groaning mess on the floor.</p>
<p>     Gritting his teeth, Sam shoved the memory down and reached to turn the key, starting the car. He was just about to drive off when a figure emerged from the bushes, and a familiar one. Ruby.</p>
<p>     Ignoring his annoyance at her, he opened his door and slid out of the car, hurrying to her side. In her arms was something small and wriggling. Whatever it was – and Sam had a pretty good idea, what with the demon in the trunk’s choice of meal – they couldn’t bring it with them. No way in Hell. He might be damning himself, but he wasn’t evil. Yet, at least.</p>
<p>     “What do you have there?” he questioned, nodding at the bundle in Ruby’s arms. A quiet, high-pitched whine came from within the fabric. “Ruby—”</p>
<p>     “What do you think, dumbass?” she responded, her voice mocking. As she drew closer out of the shadows, her burden became clearer. Inside a wrapped sheet, a small head was visible, dark hair dusting the top. “It’s a baby.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, I can see that,” Sam’s smile was tight, stretched. “What’s it doing here? You’re <em>not</em> going to feed it to the nurse.”</p>
<p>     “Of course not!” Ruby actually sounded outraged, which settled Sam’s stomach a little. She might be a demon, she might have different ideals, but she <em>was </em>helping Sam. He’d do well to remember it. Still, doubt was creeping in. The choice he’d made, between her or Dean… Well, he’d give anything to run back to his brother now, begging his forgiveness. The baby squealed, drawing Sam’s attention sharply back. “Ever consider I might have a baby because it’s<em> my </em>baby?”</p>
<p>     Sam stared blankly, uncomprehendingly.</p>
<p>     “This vessel is braindead, not actually dead,” she continued, ignoring the baby as it gave a wet cough and started to wriggle in its swaddling. “The baby is mine and… yours.”</p>
<p>     Everything stopped.</p>
<p>     Breath left Sam’s lungs in a whoosh, and he struggled to draw it back in the same way he would if he’d been winded. Icy shock shot through his veins, his fingers and toes numbing suddenly. No longer could he hear the sounds surrounding the road, no more bird song or distant car noises. Now, all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, all he could smell was the iron-tangy scent of it.</p>
<p>     Eventually, the world came back to him.</p>
<p>     “What?” his voice was a croak.</p>
<p>     “Why do you think I spent so much time away, Sam?” her voice soft, sympathetic, she came closer. Shifting the baby’s weight to one arm, though it was a big for such a little thing, she reached up to palm one of his cheeks. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, but I was… busy.”</p>
<p>     Sam gave a soft snort. Gently, he moved away from Ruby’s palm and closer to her body, looking down at the baby. Worry coursed through him. This was a baby created by a human and demon union. What the Hell would that create? God, but he’d never <em>meant</em> to make a child with Ruby, had never wanted one with her. Hell, he didn’t want one in this world at all, not right now, now that it was falling apart. Probably not ever, not with what he knew about the world. Yet here he was, staring down at a child that would be part psychic, part demon. What sort of unholy abomination would it grow up to be?</p>
<p>     Guilt tore through Sam, then. Thinking his own child was an abomination? Hadn’t he been destroyed when he’d heard Castiel say that about him? Hadn’t he felt like the angel had taken a knife and stabbed him in the heart, then twisted the blade deeper, grinding it in? This was his <em>child</em>, and God was that a weird thing to think, but… But maybe it wasn’t ruined. Maybe it would be an ordinary child? Maybe he had everything wrong?</p>
<p>     With shaking fingertips, he reached out to touch the soft little face.</p>
<p>     “Can I hold it?” he asked, meeting Ruby’s dark eyes with his terrified hazel ones. Behind him, the car was still rumbling, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off. After a few seconds of studying him, Ruby nodded.</p>
<p>     Gently, more gently than Sam thought a demon could be, Ruby shifted the baby over to Sam’s waiting arms. She even rearranged them a little, showing him how to support the baby’s head. If Sam had worried that Ruby wouldn’t care for a child she had borne, the way she was acting stifled that worry.</p>
<p>     “I’ll be in the car,” Ruby murmured once Sam had the baby supported in his arms. In his own arms, the child looked much smaller. It was certainly a little bruiser, that was for sure. “You get to know your son.”</p>
<p>     “It’s a boy?” Sam asked, incredulous. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but whenever he used to picture himself with kids, back when Jess was still alive, he’d always thought he’d have a little girl first, with long blonde hair like hers and maybe his brother’s green eyes. A little boy would be second, with the dark blond hair Dean had had as a child, with his brother’s freckles and Jess’ soulful grey eyes. He’d never thought he’d be a father since he’d lost her, let alone having the boy first, somehow. “What’s he called?”</p>
<p>     All the answer he got was the slamming of the car door as Ruby climbed into the driver’s seat. Annoyance lanced through Sam; he had so many questions he wanted to ask her, like what age the baby was, if he was healthy, what on Earth they were going to do with a baby, but… But now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to get to know his son.</p>
<p>     Moving so his back was to the windscreen, Sam bounced the baby gently in his arms. It’s little eyes opened, blue-grey peeking out. Sam didn’t know too much about babies, but he was fairly certain that those eyes would change colour later, ending up likes his or Ruby’s. The top of the baby’s head was dusted with dark hair, almost black. What really got him, though, what really sent adoration through him, was that when he uncovered the baby just a little, a tiny soft-skinned arm wriggled out. Eyes softening, he shifted the weight of the baby to one arm, so he could let the child grab his finger.</p>
<p>     Tiny little fingers curled around one of his, and Sam fell in love. God, he hadn’t wanted a child, certainly not a child with Ruby, not something that could absolutely be an abomination, part demon as it was. Hell, if the angels thought he was one, with only a little demon blood in him (excluding all the blood he’d sucked down himself) then this child was going to be in their black book for sure. Still, Sam couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but worry for the child’s future, and softness and even love for the tiny being he held. There was no hate in his heart for the boy, none at all. Sam doubted he’d ever be able to muster up anything but adoration for the child in his arms.</p>
<p>     Gathering his courage, wanting to see what would happen, but knowing he couldn’t hate the child no matter what did, he whispered, “Christo.”</p>
<p>     Nothing happened. His son didn’t even flinch. Instead, he made a small gurgle and gave a watery hiccough, his little head moving around as if searching for something. Sam didn’t know, but he suspected the little boy was hungry. Leaning down, Sam pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering his devotion and protection into the little boy’s velvet skin. Then, taking a deep breath, he headed back over to the car. It was still running, but the screams from the nurse had died down. If he listened very carefully, he could hear a faint whimper from the trunk, but he knew if he wasn’t on the blood, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.</p>
<p>     With his son carried in one arm, he slid into the passenger seat. Ruby didn’t say anything, just turned to look at him still cradling the boy, before putting the car in drive. They drove in silence for a few minutes, neither speaking, until the boy started sniffling and whimpering, then crying for real. Sam was grateful for the distraction. It drew his mind away from the woman in the trunk, away from what they were going to have to do, and brought it back to his son… His son that was going to hate him, if he ever knew the truth of his father.</p>
<p>     “What’s his name?” Sam asked, both out of curiosity and as a distraction. “Has he got one?”</p>
<p>     “Here,” Ruby shoved a bottle at him, eyes still on the road. Where she had gotten it from, Sam didn’t know, nor did he care to question. Instead, he held the bottle to the baby’s lips and watched as they fastened onto the teat and began to suckle strongly. “He’s called Prince.”</p>
<p>     “Prince?” Sam asked, wrinkling his nose. At Ruby’s glare, he wiped his face blank. “I just… wouldn’t have picked that name, I guess.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, well, you weren’t there,” Ruby snapped, eyes still fixed on the road. Flicking his eyes away from her and back to his son, Sam watched in fascination as milky white bubbles gathered at the corners of his lips, one droplet building up and running down his little chin. The sweetness of the moment helped keep him out of the dark thoughts he could feel, swirling just below the surface. This child, this sweet, innocent boy, was going to be ruined by him.</p>
<p>     “Sorry,” Ruby muttered, throwing a quick glance to him. “I know you were locked up, I just… Babies are hard work.”</p>
<p>     “I know,” Sam agreed, dropping the bottle into the footwell once Prince had done with it. Using the baby’s swaddling as a cloth, he wiped the tiny chin clean, then shifted the baby like he’d seen on TV, hoping it was right, and patting it’s back. Over his shoulder, the baby gave little hiccoughs and a tiny burp. It brought a smile to Sam’s face. “I know, Ruby. I just… I’m not going to be good at this.”</p>
<p>     “You’re doing a pretty good job right now,” she pointed out, and Sam grimaced. It wasn’t so much a good job, as he was emulating what he’d seen other people do on television and in public. He had no idea what actually caring for a baby entailed. Ruby’s sigh caught his attention. “But he’s not what we need to focus on right now.”</p>
<p>     Leaning his head back, Sam held back his groan. He’d just found out he was a father, and now he had to take on Lilith. It wasn’t fair. What he wouldn’t give to have Dean there with him, to show him how to behave. But… But he’d warned Dean away well enough, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t be seeing his brother again for a long time, if ever. Regret coursed through Sam’s veins as he shifted Prince back down from his shoulder so he could nap. It would have been better if there was a car seat for Prince, Sam knew, but Ruby hadn’t brought one when she’d appeared with their son, so he was left holding him. Beyond his worry for the baby’s safety, Sam didn’t mind.</p>
<p>     Reluctantly, he turned his thoughts back to the task at hand.</p>
<p>     Logically, he knew that killing Lilith was the way to go. Logically, he knew that to really protect Prince, to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him, he’d have to take on Lilith. Not only that, but he’d have to take on Lilith and <em>win</em>. It seemed like an almost impossible challenge, but for Prince…</p>
<p>     Well, for Prince he’d do anything. He knew he’d only known his son for an hour at most, but God if he didn’t love him. Damning himself? Ruining his soul past the point of no return? There was no question he could do it. He was going to do it for Dean and for the world before. Now, they’d all benefit from it too, and he was glad, he really was, but little Prince was the person he was doing it for.</p>
<p>     Gathering his courage, Sam drew himself up and began focusing on his powers. He’d let them build, let them fester, but wouldn’t use them. He could already feel them sparking and burning and tingling under his skin, spice and fire running through his veins. It wouldn’t be long before they were a raging, howling tornado, begging to tear their way out of him, ripping through him and into him to escape. They’d cause serious damage, and the more blood he drank, the more likely he was to injure himself with the power he could build, but he could do it. He could do this.</p>
<p>     Shifting Prince away from himself, ignoring the little whines of discomfort Prince gave as Sam built up his power, knowing Ruby could feel it too from the way her hairs were standing up on end, Sam continued on with his task.</p>
<p>     By the time they got to the convent, where Lilith was supposedly hiding, he already had a fireball contained in his chest, small and tight and deadly to lesser demons. The darkness of the convent, the feeling in the air that something was very, very wrong, let Sam know that he was going to need a lot more than the meagre powers he held within him to defeat Lilith. He’d felt it before, back when he’d been face to face with her after they’d met Chuck, but this time… This time she’d been working up her powers, just like he had, and her malicious taint hung in the air, thick and heavy like a fog.</p>
<p>     As he climbed out of the car, Ruby copied him on the other side. With grace and ease, she rounded the hood and took Prince from his arms, cooing at the child as it worked itself up to a cry in the haunting air. Running one last regretful hand over Prince’s head, Sam turned away from his small, dark family and headed towards the trunk of the car.</p>
<p>     Carefully, slowly, he opened the trunk. Reaching one hand in before he’d even lifted the lid properly, he grasped the nurse. Terrified screaming started up again, so in a smooth move Sam raised the lid of the trunk all the way and dragged her out, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle the screams. It wouldn’t do to let Lilith know they were there already. She could probably already sense him, but his power was one thing – he didn’t know <em>how </em>to shield that – a screaming woman was entirely another.</p>
<p>     Kicking and struggling, the nurse hung heavy and difficult in his grasp. Both his arms wrapped around her, constricting her, pinning her arms to her chest. His own strength would ordinarily be no match for the demon, but it had taken a back-seat, was still hiding behind the terrified front of the woman. Guilt coursed through Sam and he steeled himself, begging for the strength to do what he had to.</p>
<p>     Knowing the angels disapproved of his course horrified him, of course it did, but he had to hope that God was out there, that he would let Sam have the strength and will to drink this screaming woman dry in order to save the world. He had to hope that, even if the means to stopping Lilith were evil, God wouldn’t care, because stopping her was more important, saving the world was more important.</p>
<p>     Taking a gulp of air, Sam grit his teeth. Then, tightening his grip on the nurse with one arm, he shifted the other, pulling her hair out of the way, tilting her head to the side. She fell still, then, no longer struggling but instead sobbing, pleading. Doing his best to shut it out, Sam pressed his face against her neck.</p>
<p>     Once his nose was against her pulse-point, the smell of blood and sulphur helped to shut her out. It was like a haze came down over him, blocking everything else out but his <em>need</em> for the blood, the power, the abilities it would bring. Even his desire to stop Lilith was no match against the promised power. That was what Sam hated most about the blood. He could say all he liked that he was drinking it to save people, but when it was put in front of him, all he wanted, all he <em>needed</em>, was to taste the rotting burst in his mouth, feel those bubbles of power popping like firecrackers through his veins. It was one of his greatest shames.</p>
<p>     Ignoring the sniffles and soft please from the woman, Sam felt his mouth stretch into a twisted grin. Then, with the sick, twisted glee-horror of it all, he bit down on her flesh, hard enough to take a chunk out of her skin. Spitting it out quickly, hoping not to lose too much blood in the process, he fastened his mouth back over the hole he had left and drank and drank and drank.</p>
<p>     As her struggles lessened and lessened, her please weakening and trailing off, he felt the power within him grow. His veins were molten metal, the fireball in his chest expanding to ridiculous sizes. Pain was beating through his head already, and he wasn’t even using his powers. The tearing sensation in his mind, the feeling that something was squeezing too hard and too fast out of a hole it shouldn’t have been able to get out of at all, caused him to keen, but it didn’t stop him sucking down her blood.</p>
<p>     Limp in his arms the nurse dangled, but while he was still able to suck blood out of her, he didn’t let go. Even the very dregs, the last iron-sulphur tanged liquid, was sucked down. To his own disgust, he found himself licking her skin clear of the blood. Once he couldn’t get anything else out, and only then, he let her body go. She sank down slowly, falling to her knees as if she were begging for salvation, before sliding forward into a heap. Sam blinked down at her numbly, a horror at what he had done resting just out of reach. He knew it would catch up to him later.  </p>
<p>     Closing his eyes, Sam turned away from her, but knew he’d never get the image of her sprawled still and bloodless-pale on the floor. Wiping an arm across his mouth, smearing the blood over the bottom of his chin, Sam turned back to Ruby. She was standing there, looking lustful and proud, no baby in her arms. Sam didn’t worry. He could feel him.</p>
<p>     While the baby may not have had black eyes, he could feel the tiny seed of power within him, knew that it would be growing as time went on. He could feel Ruby’s power, more than he thought she’d had, but not enough to make him worry. Even if she tried anything, she couldn’t defeat him, not now. Most importantly, he could feel Lilith’s power, curling over everything within range, enough to match his, if not more. Letting out a soft growl, he started forwards.</p>
<p>     Before he could go any further, he felt Ruby pull him into her arms. Stiff and still, he let her hug him, her hands settling on his hips before pushing him back.</p>
<p>     “Good luck,” she whispered, eyes searching his. Sam didn’t know what she was looking for, but whatever it was she must have found it, because she stepped back and out of the way. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”</p>
<p>     Nodding his acceptance, Sam head onwards towards the convent. Behind him, he could hear a phone ringing loudly, then the muffling of the sound as it was shut into a car. Prince’s soft whimpers were loud again, as Ruby hefted the baby up into her arms, her footsteps stark against the pavement as she followed him. Realistically, Sam knew that Ruby was walking as softly as she could. That didn’t stop the burst of fire and colour in his head, the sharpness to each step, that he could feel due to the blood.</p>
<p>     Doing his best to ignore it, he walked up to the convent doors. This was it. It was time. Taking a deep breath, he threw the doors open and stepped in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes later, and Sam was face to face with Lilith. Ruby had set Prince down in the corner, and the gleeful look on Lilith’s face when she’d seen Prince was enough to send Sam flying into a rage. He hadn’t hesitated, not even to talk to Lilith, had just reached down into himself, gathered the fireball in his chest, and threw all that power out at Lilith. Some of it was wasted, simply blowing her hair about her head, but most of it hit his target dead centre, throwing her back against the altar.</p>
<p>     His head was pounding, blood already dripping down from his nose as he strained against her own considerable power. Whatever was within her, it was enormous, and the hints that he’d been getting in the atmosphere around the convent didn’t really do it justice. Digging down deep, Sam focused on all the power he possessed, knowing he could do this, that he <em>had</em> to do this. Ignoring the voice in his head – Dean’s – yelling at him, telling him not to do it, he grit his teeth and carried on.</p>
<p>     Dean’s voice, the one he used as his conscience, was yelling at him that Lilith was the last seal, but he knew that wasn’t true. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, his worry about why Lilith wasn’t fighting the death he was giving her. She was pinned, that was all. Sam may not have been as strong as her, but he could pin her for a few minutes, enough time to kill her. Groaning, reaching a hand up to his head to hold it together, he tightened his fist. With his hand clenched, the power surrounding Lilith did too, squeezing her inside her vessel. Her smoke and sand form was being crushed, obliterated, and it was his doing. The fire was burning bright, his veins were melting his skin, but it didn’t matter. He was almost done… almost…. Yes!</p>
<p>     Lilith slumped over, her vessel’s eyes staring and glassy. As she tumbled down onto the stone steps, hair fanning out, Sam got a brief flash of Jessica, a horrifying feeling that it was all his fault, but he shook it off. It was done. The Apocalypse was stopped. He might have ruined himself, might have damned himself, but it was done! No longer was there a threat over his head. Dean wouldn’t be proud, Sam knew, but he’d be glad, at least. Maybe, just maybe, it’d give them a chance to fix their relationship, and then, well, who knew?</p>
<p>     The door slammed open behind him.</p>
<p>     Spinning in shock, Sam’s eyes widened when he beheld Dean rushing through. Green eyes fixed on Lilith’s slumped form, before they rose to meet Sam’s own. Horror was burning deep and bright within them. Ashamed, Sam felt the need to wipe his face again. He could feel the dried blood flaking on his skin, the still-tacky blood from his bleeding nose staining his face, dripping globs into his mouth, making everything taste like blood.</p>
<p>     “What have you done?” Dean asked. He didn’t sound glad. He sounded like he’d seen the worst of all things. “What have you done, Sam?”</p>
<p>     “What?” Sam was confused. Hadn’t he just stopped the apocalypse?</p>
<p>     “It’s starting,” Dean’s voice was taught with horror, his eyes fixed on Lilith’s body. A feeling of terror swept through Sam, and he turned around slowly. There, on the steps, Lilith’s blood was dripping. It didn’t make sense to Sam. He’d not done anything to release blood from her body. “Oh God, it’s starting. The final seal.”</p>
<p>     With horrified, uncomprehending eyes, Sam watched as the blood dripped down the steps. It ran down them as if it were going somewhere, not as if it were spilling out of the body. Down to the floor it went, snaking along on its own, spiralling, twisting. Behind him, Ruby let out a laugh. Horror gripped his stomach tightly, squeezing him violently. Realisation was dawning, and it wasn’t a good realisation.</p>
<p>     “I’m going to be sick,” he whispered, before doing just that. Bloody vomit landed at his feet, splashing his shoes, but he couldn’t stop. Everything he had left in his stomach came up, until he was dry-heaving where he stood. Tears were pouring out of his eyes by the time he was done, his chest aching for breaths he hadn’t been taking. Stumbling backwards, he reached out behind him, fingers curling into Dean’s jacket when he came level with his brother. Dean didn’t shake him off, much to Sam’s relief, but he didn’t turn to him either.</p>
<p>     “That’s right, Sammy,” Ruby crowed, drawing both Sam and Dean’s attention. She was holding Prince in her arms, a gleeful, mocking smile stretching her otherwise beautiful face. With her features twisted the way they were, Sam could see what Dean had seen, and the regret of trusting her came to him like a bullet. “Lilith was the last seal. Didn’t you know? Your brother was trying to tell you.”</p>
<p>     “But… But… You said…” he began, turning his face between Ruby’s twisted visage and Dean’s stony countenance. “You said she wanted the apocalypse, that she’d break the last seal. You said I could stop her, only my powers. That’s why you needed me to drink the blood, to stop her.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Ruby shook her head, stalking closer to the boys. She was acting as if she owned the place. Sam didn’t blame her. Ruby knew he’d lost all his power taking out Lilith. There was no blood left in his system: he was drained. What he also knew, was that she was missing the way Dean was practically vibrating with rage, fists clenched as if he would kill her with them alone. “You never needed the feather to fly. A word of advice, though: I’d get out of here pretty quickly, if I were you. Don’t want to be burned up when our King gets here, do you?”</p>
<p>     With that, she made to move past them. Without thinking, Sam reached out to stop her, wrapping his arms around Prince and pulling at him, hoping she’d let him go. She didn’t, not at first, but Dean swung around behind her, unveiling the demon knife as he went. Within seconds he had stabbed it into her lower spine, right where Jake had stabbed Sam once-upon-a-time.</p>
<p>     Facing her, Sam could see the way her insides glowed yellow with her dying power, and the way her eyes flashed black, her irises going a dark blue, before she crumpled. Arms still wrapped around Prince, Sam ensured that his son didn’t fall with her, but he ignored the baby for the moment. His mind was still caught on Ruby, on her eyes, how they indicated just how powerful she really was. And she had been working with Lilith…</p>
<p>     “Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam began, eyes still fixed on Ruby’s corpse. “I thought—”</p>
<p>     “I know what you thought,” Dean spat, tugging Sam’s jacket backwards towards the door. In the centre of the floor, the blood had made it’s circle and was filling in a pattern on the flagstones. From the looks of it, the way it was slowing, it was nearly done. Sam gulped. “But if you’d picked up your damn phone, or, I don’t know, listened when I was yelling at you through the freakin’ door—”</p>
<p>     “That was you?” Sam’s surprise drew his attention away from Ruby’s sprawled form, the endlessly staring eyes. “I thought it was in my head.”</p>
<p>     “Whatever,” Dean shook his head, a disgusted curl to his lips. “We have to go.”</p>
<p>     With that, he continued tugging Sam back towards the door, body angled towards the exit. A rumble shook the room, knocking both Sam and Dean off balance, and then a light sprung up behind them. Turning as one, they fixed their eyes on the light glowing from the floor, knowing what they were seeing instinctively. Then, as one, they turned and ran, Sam clutching the now-crying Prince to his chest.</p>
<p>     Stumbling and clutching at the walls, Dean made it out quicker than Sam, throwing himself against the front door of the convent to open it. Hunched over Prince, clutching his little head into his chest, Sam staggered out after Dean, struggling to catch his breath. Without the blood in his system, he felt weak, unused to physical activity. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he’d not done anything without the blood in his system for a very long while, over a year, and he needed it desperately.</p>
<p>     Once they’d burst out into the night air, the cold sobering them both up a little, they stopped only when they reached the rusting car Sam had arrived in. Dean tripped in the dark. Briefly, he turned back to see what he had tripped over before he turned horrified eye’s Sam’s way. Green irises flashed at him, and Sam turned to see what Dean had caught on. Guilt flooded his system when he saw it was the nurse he’d drained dry earlier. With a disgusted snort, Dean turned away from him. Just as quickly, he turned back.</p>
<p>     “Why do you have a baby, Sam?” he finally questioned. Behind them, the convent was lighting up, shooting fire into the sky, but other than a feeling of immense power in the air, the feeling of popping eardrums, they didn’t appear to be affected by the light. “You’re not going to drain it, are you?”</p>
<p>     “No!” horrified by the very idea, Sam clutched Prince tighter to his chest. Bouncing him gently, trying to hush his outraged crying, Sam admitted the truth to Dean. “He’s mine.”</p>
<p>     “He’s yours?” Dean asked, sceptical eyebrow raised. Realisation dawned a second later, his lip curling with it. “He’s yours and that demon skank’s? Really, Sam? Never heard of ‘no glove, no love’?”</p>
<p>     “I didn’t think she could get pregnant,” he argued, knowing that was really no excuse. All he had was that every time he’d slept with her, he’d been high on the recent blood-drinking, lust running through his veins, and he hadn’t had the time or the inclination in his haste to ravage her to wear one. Ruby had never spoken out about it, so he’d assumed it was no big deal. “She was a demon, Dean.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, no shit,” Dean snorted, shaking his head. His eyes flickered between the baby in Sam’s arms and the convent, keeping an eye on the doors in case anything – Lucifer – came out. “So what are you going to do with it, huh?”</p>
<p>     “What do you mean ‘what am I going to do with it’?” Sam furrowed his brow, hunching down over Prince as if he could protect his little boy with intent and his shoulders alone. “I’m going to raise him, Dean. Keep him safe, away from demons.”</p>
<p>     “It <em>is </em>a demon,” Dean spat, poking an outraged finger at the baby. “Or at least half of one.” He paused, considering. “More like three-quarters, the way you’ve been sucking down bitch blood. You sure you’re not one of them, Sam?”</p>
<p>     “I don’t—” Sam faltered, wishing he had someone to turn to. Before all of this, Dean would have been on his side, but not anymore. He’d done this, ruined their relationship, and now he was on his own. Dean would never forgive him – Sam didn’t blame him, he’d never forgive himself – and even if he’d forgiven him for the Lilith thing, Sam could see in Dean’s eyes that he wasn’t going to forgive him for Prince. Not ever. “I don’t know, Dean. But this isn’t about me, it’s about my son.”</p>
<p>     “Your son?” Another snort, still just as disgusted. “Well, he’s not coming with me. I’ll bring you along, let you try to help fix your mess, but I’m not taking that… that <em>thing</em> with me.”</p>
<p>     “That ‘thing’ is my <em>son</em>, Dean,” Sam pleaded, taking a few stumbled steps towards Dean. In his arms, Prince started crying louder. “Please. He doesn’t even… You can say Christo and it doesn’t affect him. See?”</p>
<p>     He extended his arms, holding the baby out far enough for Dean to see it’s little screwed up eyes, it’s quickly reddening cheeks. Across from him, Dean averted his eyes and shook his head.</p>
<p>     “Please, Dean,” Sam begged, tucking Prince back against his chest. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, I know you won’t forgive me, but please. I have to fix this mess, I do, but I can’t…” he steeled himself, knowing this was the one thing he wouldn’t compromise on. “I can’t abandon my son. I won’t.”</p>
<p>     Dean studied him, green eyes fierce and piercing. Taking in Sam’s stubborn set to his jaw, sneering at the blood still on his face, and catching on the child in his arms. With a shake of his head, Dean grit his teeth and met Sam’s eyes dead-on.</p>
<p>     “Then you’re on your own, Sam,” he decided, shoulders tense, waiting to see what Sam would do. “Because I’ve got you to worry about. I’m not thinking about what another monster might do.”</p>
<p>     “He’s not a monster,” Sam cried out, staring heart-brokenly after Dean. Back turned, Dean began walking away from him, leaving Sam where he was. Outrage was flooding Sam’s system, making him shake with it. Dean could call Sam a monster all he liked. That was fair, and more than that, it was accurate. But Sam’s son? The baby hadn’t done any harm to anyone, hadn’t flinched when told God’s name, hadn’t wanted anything other than his mother’s milk to eat. The child was innocent. “Dean, please, he’s just a baby.”</p>
<p>     But Dean was gone, climbing into the Impala and reversing away. Green eyes met Sam’s hazel through the windscreen, before Dean was gone, too far away for Sam to see anything other than his silhouette in the driver’s seat. Abandoned and alone, Sam looked down at the baby in his arms, bathed in the white light floating above the convent. Shaking his head and pushing down the tears that were welling up, Sam moved towards the car he and Ruby had driven there in.</p>
<p>     Bile rising in his throat, revulsion at the idea of riding in the car he’d driven here in, the one he’d kept a terrified nurse in so he could drink her dry all for the power it would give him, the feeling of strength and fire and the high, Sam wrapped his cold-stiff fingers around the passenger door handle. Knowing it was a terrible way to keep Prince, but knowing he didn’t have any other choice, what with not having a baby seat anywhere, he lay his bundle down on the seat, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t injure him.</p>
<p>     Rounding the car quickly, barely keeping his gorge down, he slid into the driver’s seat and backed away down the road. He couldn’t make any quick, sudden moves, otherwise Prince would fall off his seat. He’d have to drive carefully, slowly and calmly, hoping that the white light wouldn’t follow him.</p>
<p>     As he backed away, averting his eyes from the dead nurse he was leaving on the road like a pile of garbage, Sam noticed the light begin to leave the top of the convent. Whatever it was doing – and the light must have actually <em>been </em>Lucifer. Sam had heard he was an angel – it was going away, and for that Sam was thankful.</p>
<p>     Taking a deep breath, Sam slowly turned the car around. Next to him, Prince wriggled and whimpered, but he was beginning to calm down as the feeling of immense power dropped off.</p>
<p>     “It’s just you and me, Kid,” Sam began, slowly driving down the road, reaching out to hold Prince in place any time he had to hit the brakes. “I’ll take care of you. And I’ll fix this. I’m not going to let you grow up in an apocalypse. I won’t.”</p>
<p>     With that promise, Sam nodded to himself. In the distance, the Impala turned right. As he drew level with the T-junction, Sam closed his eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned his car to the left. He couldn’t rely on Dean to fix his problems anymore. He was going to have to fix this one on his own. He could only hope that it didn’t leave Prince without a father to care for him, but he knew he’d never live with himself if he let the world burn down because of him.</p>
<p>     Taking one last quick glance at Prince, Sam focused on the road ahead and steeled himself for the journey he was about to take, the things he was about to do. He had no illusions that the road was going to be easy, but he’d force himself down it until the end, because this was what he had to do. This was the way he saved everyone, including himself. This was the he did his bit to save the world.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam has found himself a job in Oklahoma, but things are not going well. Something is searching for his son, and his powers are attracting unwanted attention.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, everyone. </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's somewhat shorter than the last, but varying chapter lengths will be a theme of this work. I try to end it where it feels natural, which can cause it to be a little bit uneven. </p>
<p>Anyway, as I said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please feel free to comment, if you wish. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Two</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing as he sank back into the lumpy motel bed, Sam cradled Prince (really, he was going to have to find a better name for the baby) close to him as he nursed at the bottle. It had been a long, tiring few days, consisting of Sam driving through tremors and shakes and exhaustion, then him buying all the necessary baby supplies without getting his son taken away from him. Someone had already told him he looked like a drug addict going cold-turkey in the store. It was better to get everything he needed and hide away somewhere.</p>
<p>     Finally, after much desperate searching, he’d got himself a job in a bar in Garber, Oklahoma.</p>
<p>     When he’d at last come to a stop, he’d holed up in a very green motel, hoping to ride out the last of his sickness with Prince. Honestly, Sam wasn’t sure if it was just a lower-level detox, or if he was actually getting sick. There had been no screaming nor hallucinations, but he’d been exhausted, achy and thirsty in a way that water did nothing to quench. Even now, rocking Prince gently, he felt his throat prickle with desperate need.</p>
<p>     Even if it was detox, Sam was too disgusted with himself to go sucking demon blood down again. The memory of the poor nurse’s screams, her struggles, as he’d consumed all the blood within her, lapping at whatever spilled over, turned his stomach.</p>
<p>     Never again would he give in to the urge to drink, never again would he seek the power necessary to destroy a creature like Lilith. It was too much power, at too great a cost, leading to too much trouble (and really, trouble was too mild a word for what he had caused). No, even if it killed him, Sam was going to stay clean. For his own sanity, yes, but also for Prince.</p>
<p>     The poor boy didn’t deserve a father like he had been. He deserved someone like Dean had been to him, back when they were children. Sam was determined to do right by Prince – or not Prince, he refused to call the baby by the name Ruby chose – and he’d start it off by finding a way to keep them both alive and safe. Then, he’d start on a way to end the Apocalypse before it could really have a chance to begin. No matter what, he was going to make a world worth living in for his son, he swore to him.</p>
<p>     In his arms, the boy started squirming, moving his little head away from the bottle. Sam turned his sand-gritted eyes to the little boy, blinking slowly down at the sight. The bottle was empty, poking against his son’s cheek, and the poor thing was trying to get away from it, wriggling and squirming unhappily. As quick as he could with his cement-heavy limbs, Sam removed the bottle, setting it haphazardly on the nightstand. It rocked back and forth with a tapping noise, before coming to a stop still standing.</p>
<p>     There was another bottle in the fridge, ready to be heated when his son was next hungry, so Sam heaved himself up and practically staggered over to the crib at the end of his bed, burping his son over his shoulder as he went. Careful to keep his son steady, Sam leaned over and placed him under the blankets, rubbing a hand gently over his head to soothe him. Then, with great determination, he flopped backwards onto his own bed, keeping in sight-line of the crib, ensuring he could still be seen. Tiny blue eyes watched him from where they were, a little tongue sticking out from between milky lips in contentment.</p>
<p>     Watching his son carefully, Sam breathed laboured breaths. He felt hot and sticky, sweat pooling at his lower back and running down his forehead. His throat practically burned, his mouth begging him for water, but Sam ignored it. Eyes grainy from tiredness, Sam studied his son carefully. Then, finally, he smiled at him.</p>
<p>     A copper tang burst on his tongue, and Sam winced knowing he’d split his lip with the dryness. Shudders swept through him, the taste reminding him too strongly of that sulphur-sharp taste of blood, that substance he had so desperately consumed. His stomach roiled, just a little.</p>
<p>     Shaking his head, Sam focused back on his son.</p>
<p>      “Evan,” he decided, voice raspy. The baby waved a little fist, as if in agreement. “Evan Dean Winchester.”</p>
<p>     Letting out a gurgle, Evan wriggled in place as if happy. Sam was glad, wishing that Evan could always be like that, carefree, innocent. With that hope in his head, Sam let himself slip into sleep, still spread-eagled sideways across the musty green coverlets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shooting up with a gasp, Sam peered wildly around the room. Across from him in the cot, Evan was crying miserably, great wailing sobs that suggested he’d not been paid attention to in a while. On the other side to him, someone was thumping on the door, trying to get his notice. With a groan, Sam heaved himself up, his limbs still feeling heavy and uncooperative. Stumbling forward, he scooped up Evan, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and began trying to shush him, before heading over to the door to open it. Whatever they wanted, they’d better be quick. He had a diaper to change.</p>
<p>     Peeping through the hole, he saw an unfamiliar woman standing outside, her face furious, concerned and worried all at once. She was dressed like a maid for the motel, and Sam briefly wondered why she was so desperate to get in, until Evan’s quiet cries started up again. She had probably heard Evan, and come to make sure the baby was okay. Rocking Evan gently, Sam unlatched the door and swung it open.</p>
<p>     “Yes?” he asked, wincing at how bad his voice sounded. His throat felt as if it had been sanded, and his voice didn’t sound much better, scraping like shards of glass. “Can I help you?”</p>
<p>     “The baby is crying,” the woman huffed. She was an older woman, her skin tanned and lined. Around her head, her black curls fell out of her tight bun, wispy like smoke and as wild as brambles. Steely grey eyes flashed at Sam, displeasure and disapproval pressing her pale lips into a thin line. “You should care for it better.”</p>
<p>     “I know,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose to suppress his headache. It was late morning, now, and bright sunlight stabbed into his eyes. Evan must have been crying for a while, and Sam grit his teeth against the feeling of failure. If only Dean were here to help him… But then, he’d ensured that Dean would never be there to help him again. He sighed. “I know, I’m just…”</p>
<p>     “Sick,” the woman huffed, sounding no softer, but a little less disapproving. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>     Sam nodded, squinting against the light. In his arms Evan had quieted. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, though Sam didn’t know if he was reading it wrong. Could babies concentrate that hard when they were only a few weeks old? God, but he needed help in this.</p>
<p>     “You didn’t get someone else to look after the baby?” the woman tutted, trying to peer into the room around Sam. Glad that the warding he’d put up was confined to the wall with the door on it, Sam tried to make himself bigger to hide what was inside. He couldn’t be certain whether he’d cleaned his weapons away from obvious sight or not, and he didn’t want the woman to start screaming bloody murder at him. “Where is his mother?”</p>
<p>     “Dead,” Sam bit out, gritting his teeth. The woman – Eva, her name badge read – was seriously starting to get on his nerves. At least Evan was no longer screaming, though he was still letting out watery, bubbly hiccoughs from time to time.</p>
<p>     “Oh, well,” Eva at least had the politesse to look embarrassed with herself, a flush of red colour blooming high on her cheeks. “Give me the baby. I will feed him. You rest.”</p>
<p>     “No,” Sam shook his head, moving Evan out of reach. There was no way he was going to let anyone touch Evan, even if they were well-meaning, not unless he could trust them. If Dean’s reaction to his son was anything to go by, Sam figured that he couldn’t trust many people at all. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”</p>
<p>     “You need help,” the woman shook her head, pushing past Sam into the room with a great deal of bravado, Sam thought. It took quite a woman to come up against someone his size when they were her size, even if it was very clear he was weakened and slowed by illness, whatever the cause of it may be. “I will help.”</p>
<p>     “No,” Even though Eva had proved she wasn’t a demon or an angel, Sam still didn’t trust her with his son. He barely trusted himself with the poor boy, but he wasn’t leaving him to anyone else’s mercies. “No, really, we’re fine.”</p>
<p>     “Don’t be ridicu—” Eva paused, her tanned face bleaching to a dusty white. Grey eyes widened, before the woman fell back clutching at her chest. At first, Sam was worried she was having some sort of heart attack, until the woman started stuttering, pointing ahead of her with a shaking finger. Brows furrowed, Sam turned to see what she was seeing. His own face paled in realisation.</p>
<p>     There, in the air, a bottle was floating. The fridge door had swung wide, letting a cool draft into the room. Ordinarily, Sam would have put it down to haunting or, more commonly, either he or Dean not shutting the door properly in the first place. As the bottle travelled towards them, suspended by no stings, Sam had no choice but to accept that it wasn’t an accident. No haunting could reach them, not with all the salt lines Sam had laid down, and Eva was too scared for it to be her causing it. Sam knew he wasn’t causing it: he had no powers without the blood, not anymore, he was sure of it. Which left one culprit…</p>
<p>     His eyes shifted to Evan. Little arms were outstretched, reaching for the floating bottle. Big blue eyes were fixed on it, the look of concentration still adorning his sweet face. Confusion swept through Sam, him not understanding what he was seeing, until he remembered something he had noticed in his haze of bloodlust and power before he’d gone to see Lilith. He remembered the little kernel of power he’d detected in Evan, the power he’d thought would grow as his son did. Now, it seemed like the power was more than ready to be used, even if still weak.</p>
<p>     Reaching out, Sam snatched the bottle out of the air as it drew closer. At the same time, Eva screamed, finally having worked up to it.</p>
<p>     “The Devil!” she shrieked, clutching at her hair. Eyes fixed on Sam and the child, she backed away. “The Devil is within him! Call a priest! Call a priest!”</p>
<p>     With that, she turned and fled, rushing out the open door. Another head poked around the doorway, this one covered in blonde curls. Brown eyes fixed on Evan, confusion furrowing her brow, but Sam didn’t have time to stop and explain. In a rush, Sam deposited Evan on the bed as gently as he could, before sweeping round the room, gathering everything up. Items he had unpacked were thrown back into bags, his own duffle and a carry-bag for Evan’s things. Swinging them both up onto his shoulders, he crossed the room and scooped up Evan, before hurrying for the door.</p>
<p>     Sweeping out of it, he didn’t even stop to steady the woman, hurrying over to his stolen car – a sludgy brown colour this time, something as far from yellow as he could get. When he reached it, he swung his bags into the trunk, not caring how they fell over the weapons box, before rounding the car to strap Evan into his baby seat. Within a few seconds, Evan was strapped in and crying again, but Sam didn’t have time to stop and feed him, nor to change him, much to his burning regret. Instead, he rounded the car to the driver’s side, sliding into the seat and starting the engine.</p>
<p>     It didn’t take long before he was tearing out of the parking lot, leaving the blonde woman staring after him in the open doorway to his motel room. From the corner of his eye, he could see the maid talking, practically screeching, to the desk clerk, arms waving frantically around her. Closing his eyes, bitter annoyance at himself for not remembering his son’s powers sooner flooding his system, Sam sped out of the motel and away, heart beating faster than he ever would have liked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lindsey poked her head around the door when she heard the woman screaming about the Devil, wondering what she had seen. She’d heard the crying baby earlier, as her room was right next to the baby’s, and she’d heard the commotion the maid had caused, banging on the door like there was no tomorrow, rattling it in it’s frame. She’d only exited her room when the maid started gibbering, the thin walls allowing Lindsey to hear the fear in the woman’s voice.</p>
<p>     As soon as she’d poked her head around the door, the maid had run back through it. Lindsey hadn’t got a good look, but she was certain she had seen the man pluck a milk bottle from the air. Shaking off the idea, she pursed her lips. The idea that the bottle had been floating was ridiculous, would imply some sort of magic or power in the world that Lindsey didn’t know about, that nobody knew about, and that just <em>couldn’t</em> be true. Still, whatever the maid had seen had terrified her, bleaching her skin from tanned to white.</p>
<p>     After the maid had left, the man had gathered up his things and rushed off at speed, the ugliest car Lindsey had ever seen racing out of the parking lot. He’d acted like the hounds of Hell were on his heels, or at the very least something of that ilk. Fear had coloured his expression obviously, and it had made Lindsey’s nerves kick into gear as well. She was only glad he’d left in such a hurry that the door was left swinging behind him, giving her a chance to go in and investigate what she’d seen.</p>
<p>     Glancing over her shoulder, feeling her nerves ratchet up again due to what she was about to do, Lindsey stepped through the doorframe. Inside, the room was dark, the curtains still pulled across the window. Dark green dominated every furnishing, even the carpet, which was thin and stained like her own. There was a crib – obviously for the baby – and two beds, though only one showed any signs of being used. The covers were all crumpled, though only lengthwise, as if the man hadn’t even bothered to get into bed before he’d fallen asleep. Lindsey could appreciate that; the man had looked incredibly tired, dark smudges under his eyes like bruises.</p>
<p>     Stepping over to the small kitchen area, Lindsey looked up, trying to see if there were any wires or strings hanging from the ceiling. Other than a particularly disgusting stain that she didn’t want to know the origin of, there was nothing. Maybe she hadn’t seen the floating bottle, then? It didn’t make sense if she had. It was more likely that the man had accidentally launched it aside and caught it before it got too far from him. Because she hadn’t watched the start of the interaction, she didn’t know, and probably never would, not with the way he’d torn out of the room in such haste.</p>
<p>     Sighing deeply, Lindsay put her hands on her hips and shook her head at the floor. Here she was, thinking all sorts of fanciful notions. The world was difficult enough without throwing magic and demons and monsters into it. Couldn’t an accident and a misunderstanding just be that?</p>
<p>     It was coming up on three years since she’d stopped drinking, and because of that she’d been thinking about it more than ever. She always did around the date, though she thought about it a lot, still. Anything to take her mind off it, and she’d focus on that, including what may or may not have been a possessed baby.</p>
<p>     Scoffing to herself, Lindsey turned around and froze, eyes wide.</p>
<p>     On the opposite wall, fading into the green, were painted symbols. Walking over to them, Lindsey reached out a hand and touched one. When she pulled her fingers back to look at them, they were black-stained. The symbols were fresh, probably put up by the man who’d left in such a hurry.</p>
<p>     God, but maybe the man <em>had </em>had a possessed son. Maybe he’d even let the boy get that way himself, had offered up his son to demonic creatures. Bile rose in her throat, but Lindsey ignored it. She was being ridiculous. Salt lay across the doorway and – she twitched the curtain up, peeking at the windowsill – across the windowsill. Salt was for protection, for stopping demons, anyone who had even a passing interest in the occult knew that. But what if the salt was put there to stop a demon from getting out…?</p>
<p>     Snorting, Lindsey rubbed at her forehead.</p>
<p>     “Stop it, Linds,” she murmured to herself, rubbing her clean fingers over her eyes. “There’s no <em>way</em> this guy could summon a demon. Even if he’s interested in the occult, there’s no such thing as demons. Come on.”</p>
<p>     With that decided, she spun on her heel and left the room, not looking back. She’d get her answers from the man soon enough, she knew. She’d recognised him when he’d stopped to stare at her like a rabbit caught in the headlights, right before he’d escaped in his car. He had got himself a job at Hoyt’s Bar, just like she had. She could corner him then. For now, she was just going to have to go back to her own motel room and pretend she knew nothing when the maid came knocking, demanding her side of the story.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Putting Evan down after a bottle was becoming common-place, Sam thought as he tucked the baby into a new crib in a new motel just a few minutes down the road from the one he’d been staying in. At first, he’d thought he had to leave Garber, but he hadn’t wanted to do that.</p>
<p>     If Dean heard word of the story in any of his online gossip papers he liked to read, the ones that gave them a lot of cases, he would assume that Sam had left town. He wouldn’t expect Sam to stay there, not if he were trying to protect Evan. What’s more, Sam had a job here, one he’d worked hard to find. He needed the money, and it would be far easier to blend in at the bar than it would be if he were new elsewhere.</p>
<p>     Groaning to himself, wishing he could speak to his brother or Bobby, Sam flopped down onto his bed. This motel room didn’t have a desk in the room, for whatever reason, though it wasn’t as disgusting as the last one he was in. The sheets were a weird flowery red and green pattern, scratchy under him, but the walls were creamy in colour, the windows wider and facing the sun. The afternoon shine beat through the glass obnoxiously, warming Sam’s skin through his clothes. He was still feeling tired and bleary, and the heat wasn’t helping to keep him awake.</p>
<p>     Deciding he would go online, hoping to find some information somewhere about half-demon, half-human kids, Sam booted up his laptop. The faint whir of it helped soothe him, and he was barely keeping his heavy eyes open when it finally started up and asked him for a password. Within minutes he was in and connected to the Wi-Fi, the smell of heating plastic drifting up to him as the laptop warmed both from the sun and from the ancient circuits whirring within.</p>
<p>     It didn’t take long for him to search about human-demon hybrid children, but all he got back was cambions, and that didn’t seem quite right. These were born from virgins who got impregnated by the demon that possessed them, not by a human man and a demon woman having sex. Sam clicked on link after link, following more and more obscure passages, but nothing came up. He was just about to give up and close the laptop when an alert chimed on his laptop.</p>
<p>     It was a supernatural chat website, one he followed just in case anything real-sounding ever showed up on the server. Thinking about what had happened earlier that day, Sam bit his lip and felt a slight tremble starting up in his fingertips. Nerves flared up in his body, making his chest feel tight and his fingers begin to tap on the plastic case of the laptop. The over-warm sleepy feeling that had been lulling him disappeared, replaced by keyed-up alertness, worry for Evan taking up every thought in his mind.</p>
<p>     Taking a steadying breath, Sam clicked on the link to the website.</p>
<p>     Scanning the newly written post took only a few minutes, but dread curled through him thick and poisonous as he read. There, in scratchy-white writing, stark against the black background, was the story, even giving the name of the motel, the town, the county. Shallow breaths stuck in his chest, and he slammed the laptop closed, unwilling to read any more.</p>
<p>     Checking the wards as he slid off the bed, he went to the door and ensured salt remained. Then, just in case, he got the salt out and lined the entire room. Nothing was coming in, through the doors, windows or walls.</p>
<p>     With that done, Sam slid the chain into the lock on the door, making sure no humans were getting in without his notice. Hurrying to Evan’s side, Sam lifted him out of the crib and placed him on the bed, laying pillows around him to ensure he didn’t roll off. Then, he dragged the crib across the room, pushing it up against the far wall, behind the second bed, so that he was between the crib and the door. Evan started crying at the commotion, and Sam hurried over to him to shush him, pressing his lips against the soapy-scented head from his earlier bath. Breathing in his fresh-baby smell, Sam rocked him gently, eyes fixed on the door as Evan slowly started calming, drifting to sleep in his arms.</p>
<p>     The baby finally asleep, Sam placed him back in the crib, before switching to the bed furthest from the door. Keeping his back to Evan and his clothes on, including his boots, Sam laid the knife on the table between the beds and the gun under his pillow. He’d be vigilant, watching out for any hunters, demons or monsters that tried to get into his room, tried to get his already-powerful son. Curling his fingers around the handle of the gun under his head, Sam trained his eyes on the door and settled down for a long evening, a long night, of protecting Evan. Nobody was getting to his son, no matter what.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His search had not been going well. There was something around the light, something dark and demonic throwing off his senses, something pure that had been corrupted. It didn’t completely hide the power from existence, but somehow managed to shield it. All he could tell was that the power was centred in America, more specifically in Oklahoma.</p>
<p>     It wasn’t until the power had flared with use that he got a fix. It drew his attention immediately, snapping his watching gaze to Garber. Whatever was causing the light, and whatever was shielding it, throwing his searching gaze off, was there. With little hesitation, he threw himself towards the town, landing in the very middle of it in the millisecond of a blink.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam has just started work at Hoyt's Bar, but the story about his son is out there. With a nosy co-worker on one side, and a threat to Evan's life on the other, what is Sam to do?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>this is a bit of a longer chapter today. </p>
<p>There is a very brief allusion to non-con during this chapter, though nothing actually happens, or is even discussed in detail. This is a warning that it is mentioned, so if that is likely to upset you, I suggest not reading this chapter. </p>
<p>That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Three</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Afternoon was making way for evening when Lindsey saw Keith (she had finally learned his name from her boss) walking towards Hoyt’s Bar with a baby car seat in his hands and a rucksack over one shoulder. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes leaving him looking like he had a broken nose. Wild hair and a nervous expression completed the look, the jittery nature of him suggesting to Lindsey that he was running on caffeine and determination alone. She wondered if he’d even make it through the night.</p>
<p>     It wasn’t long before he got to the door, and Lindsey knew for certain that she’d been right. This was the man she’d seen yesterday morning, tearing out of his occult-scribbled room as if he were being chased down. Thanking her lucky stars, glad that she’d get a chance to ask about just what it was she had seen, Lindsey walked over to the door and unlocked it, allowing him entrance. He nodded to her, no spark of recognition in his eyes, and Lindsey knew he hadn’t really seen her the previous morning, too busy running.</p>
<p>     Hazel eyes darted around the room, even after the door was closed, and Lindsey wondered what he was scared of. She supposed, if he really had been summoning demons, he might have realised they weren’t all they cracked up to be and had skedaddled, paranoia that they were following clouding his senses.</p>
<p>     “Hi, Keith,” she smiled at him, trying to catch his gaze. Near-wild eyes darted to her, open wide, but when they caught on her face they calmed a little. Seeming to relax somewhat, Keith readjusted his hold on the car-seat in his hands and sent what was probably a smile, but came out more of a grimace, her way. “You can leave little…,” she gestured at the baby, but Keith gave no response. “Well, you can leave him in the back room. We have a baby monitor at the bar. Only for a few days, mind.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Keith nodded. His voice sounded tired, too, flat and devoid of life. “Thank you. I’ve got someone coming down, I just… Don’t want to leave him with anyone else right now.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey could understand that. She wouldn’t want to leave her own new-born with a stranger, either. If she had to work, she would definitely be taking whatever child she had with her.</p>
<p>     When Keith appeared like he wasn’t going to say anything else, Lindsey turned on her heels and led him towards the back, behind the bar. It wasn’t long before they had reached the back room of the shop, and Sam set the baby seat down on the small cot in the room. The baby in the seat gurgled up at Sam happily, sloppy bubbles popping around his lips. With gentle fingers, Keith reached out and wiped the spit aside, a small smile adorning his face. Lindsey hadn’t seen the man smile before, but she had to admit that he was much better looking when he did so. He seemed less tired, for a start.</p>
<p>     “Maybe you should teach me how to feed him,” she suggested, not wanting to bring up the occult right then. It wasn’t the time, and Keith certainly didn’t look as if he’d be accepting of her probing. At the suggestion of her feeding the baby, his broad shoulders tensed up quite significantly. “I mean…” she hesitated, catching her fingers in the bottom of her shirt. “Just in case you can’t get here straight away.”</p>
<p>     For a few seconds, Keith studied her with a distrustful eye. Then, he nodded sharply.</p>
<p>     “Makes sense,” he agreed, reaching down to unstrap the baby from the seat. “He’s not hungry right now, but I can show you how to hold him.”</p>
<p>     “Good idea,” she let out a nervous chuckle, holding out her arms ready to take the baby from him. “My sister has a baby, but I’ve never held it. She probably thought I’d drop it.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey winced as she said it, realising that admitting her ineptitude to the strange man about to hand his baby over to her was probably not a good idea. To her relief, he let out a snort that probably doubled as a laugh. Keith certainly didn’t look like he was in the mood for actual laughter right then, or probably ever, if she was being honest.</p>
<p>     “Don’t like kids?” he asked, lifting the baby out of the seat and rocking him as his little arms began to flail. He turned to place the baby into her arms, and Lindsey really did almost drop him. He was far heavier than she’d been expecting, having always been told that babies were light. It wasn’t that he was heavy, it was just he was bigger than she thought, and wriggling properly now, tiny whimpers beginning to emanate from his throat.</p>
<p>     “It’s not that I don’t like kids,” she explained, shifting the boy a little to better support his head. Before she knew it, she was holding him in one arm while her other hand came up to tickle his chest a little, nails scratching softly against his green baby grow, the elephants on it squishing up as the material caught on her fingers. Something about the gesture must have soothed the kid, as he stopped wriggling so much, though his head did turn to shoot what seemed like an accusing glare at his father. “My sister and I haven’t seen each other in years.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey would have expected Sam to ask questions about that, but he didn’t. When she glanced up at his face, he looked pained, as if he knew what that was like, but he wasn’t prying. Despite that, Lindsey felt the need to explain herself. Maybe if she opened up, Keith would follow her example and open up himself, just a little. It would certainly give her a good opening to get her answers from him.</p>
<p>     “I disappointed her, I guess,” Lindsey shrugged, finding the gesture tricky with the heavy baby in her arms. “She didn’t want to see me after that.”</p>
<p>     Checking Keith’s face again, Lindsey saw that he looked empathetic, sharing in her pain. A jolt of disappointment shot through her: Keith was going to be harder to crack than she thought.</p>
<p>     Turning her attention back to the baby, she cooed down at it for a few moments.</p>
<p>     “What’s his name?” she asked, laughing when he latched his hand around one of her fingers, blue eyes now fixed on her. He was studying her intently, like he was looking for something and not finding it, though Lindsey knew that couldn’t be the case. The baby was a few weeks old, tops. There was no way he could be having any complex thoughts in the stage of development he was at. “He’s looking at me funny.”</p>
<p>     Keith shifted closer, looking down at his son.</p>
<p>     “He looks at everyone like that,” Keith assured, running his hand over the downy hair of his head. Once again, the baby turned his head to face his father upon hearing his voice. “He’s called Robbie.”</p>
<p>     “Robbie, huh?” she asked, grinning down at him. With his free arm, he reached up and caught his fingers in her hair, giving it a gentle tug. Freeing her finger, she gently extricated her hair from his grasp, his tiny nails giving sharp pricks against her finger pads. “So, if I just hold him like this, I can feed him a bottle?”</p>
<p>     “Huh?” Keith seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking, turning his attention back towards Lindsey and Robbie in her arms. “Yeah. Then you have to burp him. Just bring him up over your shoulder, supporting his head, and rub his back until he burps.”</p>
<p>     “Got it,” Lindsay nodded, checking her watch. Surprise filled her, when she realised it was nearly time for opening. As quickly as she could while still being gentle, she handed the baby over to Keith. He seemed surprised for a minute, then kicked into gear and went to set Robbie down into the car seat again. Pulling away, he left a small, soft teddy with his son that appeared to make a rattling sound when jostled. It fascinated the boy, drawing his attention away from both adults in the room. “We have to open in a few minutes,” Lindsey explained, hurrying back towards the bar. “If you give the tables a quick run-down…”</p>
<p>     Keith gave a nod, and Lindsay cursed herself as she started wiping at the bar one final time. She had had an opportunity to ask Keith what she needed to know about what she had seen the previous morning, but she hadn’t taken it. She had been so fascinated with Robbie – and honestly, was there any way that baby could have the devil in him? – that she hadn’t thought to ask. All she had done was learn that Keith wasn’t a very forthcoming sort of person. With a final shake of her head, watching Keith working out of the corner of her eye, Lindsey promised herself that she would get answers out of him, both about the occult and himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been a few days since Sam had started working in Hoyt’s Bar under the false name of Keith Bates, and he’d finally got somewhere to leave Evan with when he was working. Missouri had come all the way from Kansas to look after his son in a cheap apartment he was renting, saying she would only do it for a few weeks, but he was welcome to come and stay with her any time. One day, Sam might take her up on the offer, but right then he was busy trying to earn enough money for he and Evan to survive on the road for a month or so. He’d have to find more work, settling in new towns every now and then, only fighting the Apocalypse for a few weeks at a time. But, if that was what it took to save the world, so be it.</p>
<p>     When Missouri had arrived at his apartment, one that Sam had found the day he first started working at Hoyt’s, she had looked at him with such sad eyes and told him ‘<em>something’s twisted into your powers, boy</em>.’ He’d wondered, briefly, if she could fix them, but she’d told him with a great heaviness to her voice, as if she were telling him someone he loved had died, that there was nothing she could do for his powers. It would take someone far more powerful than she would ever be.</p>
<p>     As for Evan, Sam had wondered if she was going to find him evil due to his nature. Missouri hadn’t even recoiled, and as Sam was marvelling at that, she’d shot at him that the poor boy didn’t have anything to do with his own conception, and that it wasn’t Evan’s fault he was the way he was. There had been some accusation in her tone, but at the same time there was forgiveness, and Sam had almost wept at her feet. Only pride had held him back, and the fact that he needed to be at work in a few minutes. Knowing that Evan was safe with Missouri, he had left with a kiss to the boy’s forehead and a gentle tug to his grey-clad feet.</p>
<p>     Working at Hoyt’s was a lot less stressful when he wasn’t having to worry about Evan all the time, but it was still difficult. The woman he’d met on his first day, Lindsey (and something about her face tugged at him, as if he’d seen it before), seemed determined to get him to talk. She’d all but demanded a game of darts at one point, suggesting that he answer questions about himself if he lost. Fortunately, he was a pretty good darts player himself, and he won the game quickly. Disappointment had coloured her expression, but Sam didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends, he was here to make money to support him and his son, then leave.</p>
<p>     A few hours into his shift, it became quiet. It was late at night, on a weekday, and only the regulars were still in the bar. Nobody was requesting a drink right at that moment, and Sam had finished busing the empty tables, so he came to rest behind the counter. He kept a water bottle back there, unwilling to touch alcohol after his addiction to demon blood. If there was anything he didn’t need, it was more contact with addictive substances, thank you very much.</p>
<p>     Leaning back against the tap wall, facing the room, Sam watched from the corner of his eye as Lindsey rested her weight against the bar, one leg kicked out and crossed in front of the other. Her back was to the room, her long hair cascading over her shoulders in blonde waves, the dull light in the room causing it to shine the muted gold of an old wedding band.</p>
<p>     In her hand was some sort of chip, words inscribed on it that Sam couldn’t read. She was flicking it over her knuckles, watching Sam surreptitiously. It was clear that she wanted Sam to ask about it, but he wasn’t going to. Lindsey had an odd propensity for sharing her life story with him, as if she thought him knowing about her would convince him to tell her about him. It wouldn’t. All it did was make him wonder if she gave her story out so willingly to everyone else, and if she did, how she possibly kept herself safe from being taken advantage of.</p>
<p>     A few minutes passed like that, Lindsey flicking the chip, Sam sloshing the water in his bottle around gently. The hum of the room was quiet, the gentle tap of a glass or bottle being put down on the table breaking the monotony every now and then. Nobody spoke up loudly, nobody made a move to the bar, and the warm air in the building was making Sam feel sleepy. He wasn’t getting enough sleep with Evan, though Missouri should be able to help him for a few days, at least.</p>
<p>     Just as his eyes were slipping closed, focusing still on the flick of movement between Lindsay’s fingers, she spoke up, “It’s a sobriety chip.”</p>
<p>     Her voice was quiet, but it still startled Sam. Recovering from the surprise, he straightened up and tightened his grip on his water-bottle, noticing how loosely he was holding it and saving it from a sudden drop to the floor.</p>
<p>     “What?” he asked, realising that he had been staring at her from the corner of his eye. Focusing in on Lindsey, he turned his face towards her. “Sorry, I was—”</p>
<p>     “Sleeping, I know,” she teased, a faint grin pulling at the corners of her lips. Against his better judgement, Sam felt the corners of his own lips tilting up to match. Extending her arm, she gestured for Sam to take what she was holding. “It’s a sobriety chip.”</p>
<p>     “A what?” Sam wasn’t entirely familiar with them, though he’d seen people carrying them before.</p>
<p>     “A sobriety chip,” Lindsey nodded down at the bronze coin in his hands, and he looked down at it. It was a disk with a triangle on it, the words ‘to thine own self be true’ and ‘recovery’ on it. In the middle of the triangle, the Roman numeral three was on it. Looking up with a questioning glance, he watched as she shifted slightly uncomfortably. “I’ve been sober for three years.”</p>
<p>     “Oh,” Sam wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say to that. He didn’t know if ‘well done’ was a good thing to say, or if it would come off as patronising. Three years was a long time to stay clean from your poison, he knew. He wondered if he’d be able to do it himself. Demon blood was something he still craved, even now, and he knew that part of the reason he was settling down and earning money in Garber was because he was scared. If he went back out hunting, he’d inevitably come across demons.</p>
<p>     Terror that his experience with the nurse, the nightmares he still had from draining her screaming body, wouldn’t be enough to stop him from drinking more people dry prevented him from wanting to hunt. The power the blood had provided him with was addictive, as was the blood itself, and he craved it like Lindsey probably craved alcohol, even now. Especially surrounded by it, as she was.</p>
<p>     Sam didn’t think he would be able to do that himself, but the idea that Lindsay could get clean from her drug of choice, could then spend hours every day around it, gave him hope for his future. Maybe he could hunt again, without turning himself back into a monster (if he’d ever stopped being one). Maybe he could go out and fight to save the world, just like Sam knew his brother must have been doing right then, possibly right at that very moment.</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Lindsey nodded, drawing Sam out of his contemplations. There was a dull flush high on her cheekbones, and she couldn’t meet his eyes exactly, shifting a little nervously, like she expected him to throw the chip back in her face and start berating her. He wouldn’t do that. Frankly, she was an inspiration to him. “It’s been a while.”</p>
<p>     “You work in a bar,” he said stupidly, brain still really stuck on the idea that he could get back to hunting. If she could do it, so could he. He knew it. “Isn’t it… difficult?”</p>
<p>     “That’s one word for it,” Lindsay shrugged, tucking her rough fingers into her back pockets. She still wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “But I like to think I’m proving to everyone and myself that I can do it, that I’m stronger than the addiction.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Sam nodded, voice thick though he didn’t know why. He held out his hand to Lindsey, offering her the chip back. She didn’t take it. “You’re certainly showing that.”</p>
<p>     “I thought you ought to know,” Lindsay finally met his eyes, hers brimming with emotions that Sam turned his own eyes away from. Fear was burning in his chest, panic gripping his lungs with ice-sharp fingers. Somehow, Lindsay had worked out that he was an addict. He didn’t know how, didn’t want to know how, but he knew she knew. White-knuckling the coin, he turned away from her. Cool fingers gripped his forearm, gentle but firm. He wanted to shake them off, but he didn’t. “It does get easier, Keith.”</p>
<p>     The use of his fake name surprised him more than he thought it would, so much so that he jumped. Lindsey let go of his arm with a surprised gasp, looking at him in confusion as he turned back towards her. He offered her a small smile, self-deprecating and stiff, but there. Across from him, she returned his smile and then some, warmth alighting on her features like they’d just become best friends. Thinking about it, Sam suspected they might have done. There was no one else there for him in the world anymore, save for Missouri, not while he had Evan with him, anyway. Guilt ran through him again, when he thought that the closest person to him left didn’t even know his real name.</p>
<p>     “Do you mind if I ask?” she hesitated, uncertainty lacing her voice. Sam tensed again, knowing what was coming. “What was it for you?”</p>
<p>     Letting out a tired sigh, Sam rubbed a hand down his face. Flicking a quick glance around the room, checking that no customer needed them or was listening in, Sam divulged what he could.</p>
<p>     “It was a new drug,” he confessed, knowing that his story would stand up. Nobody would have heard of it before, even if he called it by what it really was. So he did. “She called it Demon Blood, got me hooked.” He shrugged, knowing that he couldn’t put all the blame on Ruby. “I should have known better, but I just felt so… good, I guess. I felt powerful. My brother tried to dry me out, but I went back. Only really decided to clean myself up after I got Ev—Robbie.”</p>
<p>     “That’s awful,” Lindsay sympathised, eyebrows setting into soft lines above her eyes. “You can only really get clean if you want to, though. Good for you, Keith. Really.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, well,” Sam huffed out a laugh with no humour in it, crossing his arms across his chest and studying the scars on the back of his hand, coin digging against his ribs. “The tricky bit is staying that way.”</p>
<p>     “You will,” she promised, looking like she was going to say more. Her mouth was open, her face honest, when the door swung open and three men walked into the room. Sam recognised them immediately, and turned to face the bar with some dread curling in the pit of his stomach. They were hunting buddies of his dad’s. They wouldn’t be happy to see him at best, would be hunting Evan at worst. Lindsey, noticing Sam’s attention had shifted from her, took the chip from his hand and tucked it into his pocket, murmuring, “For encouragement.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey took a step back then, letting Sam run the show. She must have read the recognition on his face, because normally she greeted customers first.</p>
<p>     The men took their time, sauntering towards the bar. They made it obvious that they were coming over to Sam, but they shared gleeful glances between each other. Sam didn’t know whether it was because they thought they were going to get the better of him that night, or if it was because they had just come off a hunt and were celebrating. In his effort to ignore the supernatural world, he hadn’t been paying attention to any potential hunts around the area, admitting to himself that it was because he didn’t want to hear about demons, unsure whether he’d act if he found them. If he didn’t know they were there, not doing anything about them wasn’t as bad, surely?  </p>
<p>     Eventually the three men reached the bar, sliding onto barstools just a little out of sync, the stink of stale sweat reaching Sam’s nose. Tim, the shortest of the three, knocked his knuckles against the wood, signalling to Lindsey that he wanted some of the strong stuff. With a raised brow and an expression like she’d tasted something bitterly sour, Lindsey delivered, sliding their drinks down to them. They all took a slow sip, just a touch out of sync.</p>
<p>     “Sam,” Tim greeted, causing Sam to groan internally. Here they were, for reasons Sam didn’t know, but that were making his stomach tie itself into knots, and they were blowing his cover. Lindsey’s eyes darted between him and Tim, confusion furrowing her brow. “It’s good to see you, Boy.”</p>
<p>     “Sam?” Lindsey broke in, her tree-bark gaze running over Sam’s carefully schooled face. He hoped his guilt didn’t show through, but he wasn’t counting on it. Ever since he’d stopped in town, he’d felt as if everything were visible to the whole world, his tiredness taking him over, screaming his emotions for all to hear. “I thought your name was Keith.”</p>
<p>     Gritting his teeth, Sam bit out, “My middle name is Sam.”</p>
<p>     “Keith Sam?” her eyebrow was raised, her hand set on one hip as she shifted her weight to one foot. “Sounds stupid.”</p>
<p>     “It’s Samuel,” Tim piped up, sounding a little sheepish. Sam thanked anyone who was listening – knowing it wasn’t God or his angels, hoping it wasn’t Lucifer himself – that Tim wasn’t blowing his cover. They might be here to get him, but Tim’s actions were speaking louder, suggesting that they didn’t know what he’d done yet. Sam hoped it stayed that way, at least until he left Garber… Which would now be soon. “His name is Keith Samuel.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey gave a snort and rolled her eyes, but didn’t actually question it again. Instead, she sank back into the shadows, picking up a rag and returning to cleaning the bar. Another customer came over for a drink, which she delivered quickly and without much charm, her head tilted ever so slightly towards their conversation. Sam knew she was listening, hoping to gain more information about him. They would have to be careful in their talk.</p>
<p>     “What do you want, guys?” Sam kept his voice in the friendly-neutral territory, his face open and pleasant. “There good hunting nearby?”</p>
<p>     Reggie cleared his throat a little, flicking his eyes to Lindsey nearby. An amused smile curled his lip almost into a sneer. “Oh, yeah. There’s a little… deer in the area.”</p>
<p>     Barely resisting the urge to close his eyes and groan, Sam reached forward and picked up his own cloth, squeezing his fingers deep into the material. He knew they were talking about Evan, though he didn’t know if they knew Evan was his own son. Somehow – most likely through the website he’d first found the story on himself – they’d caught wind of the ‘devil possessed baby’ and wanted to come down and check it out themselves. They might decide the baby was just a psychic child, one who was already strong with their powers. Even then, it was a risk.</p>
<p>     Some hunters hated psychics just as much as they hated monsters, thinking them lesser than humans because they could do more. Sam didn’t want to risk them connecting him with Evan, not least because if they did and learned about his past later, they’d start hunting him down, wanting to kill the part-demon spawn of a blood drinking, Lucifer-freeing freak of nature.</p>
<p>     Tramping his thoughts down, he refocused on the hunters before him.</p>
<p>     “Yeah, I heard about that,” Sam nodded, moving slightly to the side so he could clean the bar himself, needing something to do with his arms. Energy was zinging through him, screaming at him to rush home and protect Evan. Trusting Missouri to keep Evan safe, Sam stayed where he was and tried to act unconcerned. “Pretty sure it’s bull.”</p>
<p>     “You check it out?” Steve piped up for the first time, dimple dipping his cheek as he gave a mocking smile. His steely grey eyes fixed on Sam, one brow raised in question. “You don’t look to be hunting to me.” </p>
<p>     “Nah, I… Settled down,” Sam shrugged, very aware that Lindsey was still listening in. She’d stopped scrubbing at the bar now, the hand gripping the cloth just resting on the wood. Her face was still turned away, a curtain of hair blocking her features, but Sam could tell from he tilt of her head that she was focused on the four of them. “But I only heard one report, and it seemed to be a pretty unreliable source to me.”</p>
<p>     “Well, if you don’t want to check it out,” Steve suggested, his smile widening as he studied Sam from under heavy brows. “Then we’ll be happy to.”</p>
<p>     Preventing the urge to scream that he had it, that they could leave the bar, Sam sent a tight smile their way. The hunters looked between themselves, sending nudges down the counter and whispering under their breaths just a little too quietly for Sam to properly hear. Waiting patiently, studying the room to give an air of disinterest to his countenance, Sam let them speak. When they turned around to face him, it was Reggie that spoke first.</p>
<p>     “Something big is going down, Sam,” he nudged, watching Sam with a careful eye. “We might need you on this.”</p>
<p>     “You don’t need me,” Sam shook his head, knowing where this was going. These men <em>really </em>didn’t know what he had done yet, <em>really</em> didn’t know that he had started the Apocalypse. They were going to try to convince him to go hunting again, but Sam couldn’t. At least, he couldn’t go with them, not with people who had a chance of finding out what he’d done, would probably turn on him and kill him, leaving Evan without a father, without support. “Besides, I’m not in that line of business anymore.”</p>
<p>     “Come on, Sam,” Tim ribbed, sending a grin Sam’s way. His eyes darted over to Lindsey then back again, his smile stretching wider as if they were colluding on something, the both of them in on the joke. “Your daddy was one of the best. You and your brother are near as famous as him.”</p>
<p>     “Dean’s still in the business,” Sam offered with his best attempt at a hapless shrug. Beside him, Lindsey shifted closer, interest sparking in her at the insight into Sam’s life. “You go down to Sioux Falls and find Bobby Singer, he can put you on to him. I told Dean, I’m only in the life until we get Yellow Eyes. We did, so I’m gone.”</p>
<p>     “To a bar?” Reggie raised an eyebrow, the brim of his cap hiding it from Sam’s view. “What happened to Stanford Sammy that your daddy used to boast about?”</p>
<p>     Raising his eyebrows at that, Sam felt shock run through him. Honestly, he hadn’t know that John had boasted about him going to Stanford to anyone, Jerry Panowski aside. He had genuinely thought that his dad hadn’t cared about it, had been disappointed, even. With the way they’d fought before Sam had left, it had always made sense to Sam that John didn’t care for his achievement, and now Reggie said it like it was a well-known fact. Surprise was a mild term for what Sam was feeling.</p>
<p>     Shaking it off, Sam gave his best self-deprecating smile paired with a shrug, “Saving up. I only got in on a full ride once, you know?”</p>
<p>     All three hunters before him nodded like they understood, sharing glances between themselves. Disappointment was clear on their faces, but it wasn’t enormous. They knew how difficult it was to get out of the hunting life, every hunter did, and most hunters respected it when it happened. Big things might be going down in the community, but if an ex-hunter (rare as they were) said that they weren’t getting involved, other hunters respected that they weren’t getting involved. Nobody would miss Sam that much, anyway. Dean was always the better out of the two of them. Dean would be their preferred go-to choice.</p>
<p>     “In that case,” Tim decided, finishing up the last of his drink. None of them signalled for a second, and glancing at the clock, Sam knew why. The last drinks bell hadn’t been pulled, but only because he and Lindsey weren’t paying attention. In only a few moments, the bar would be shutting. Lindsey had finally moved off, bustling around and picking up empty glasses, hurrying in a way Sam hadn’t seen her do before. It was like she was desperate to get something done, though Sam didn’t know what. He turned his attention back to Tim, who continued, “We’d best get going. It’s been a long drive. We’ll go check out the local motels.”</p>
<p>     With that said, all three slipped off the barstools, Steve lingering for a moment longer to finish up his whiskey. Once that was done, they all loped off together, looking an odd mixture of tired and excited. After them followed most of the crowd in the bar, leaving in dribs and drabs until the room was empty.</p>
<p>     Across the room Lindsey was trying to catch his eye, but Sam determinedly avoided her gaze. Hurrying, he completed his duties a little sloppily, ready to get back to Evan. He’d feel safer about his son if he were with him. Even though Missouri was there, and he trusted her implicitly, he couldn’t help but worry what would happen if anyone broke in. Missouri wasn’t trained to fight, didn’t even carry weapons. She might be able to look after Evan, but if she were alone in an attack, would she be able to win? Not wanting to take the chance, Sam rushed out the door, ignoring Lindsey’s calls behind him.</p>
<p>     He had a bad feeling that something was going to go wrong that night. He desperately hoped that nobody he cared about would be harmed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frustration coursed through Lindsey as she watched Keith high-tailing it out of the bar door, leaving her to lock up. It was usually her duty anyway, but he normally stayed around to keep her company, even if it was the silent and brooding type, those wide shoulders high around his ears. This time, he’d hurried out of Hoyt’s faster than she could see, leaving only the door swinging in his wake.</p>
<p>     Lindsey figured she could understand a little. Old friends of his had shown up, and they had given her more information about Keith’s life in one hour than Lindsey had gained from a week of working with him. It both annoyed her that Keith was so secretive, and worried her that these men were here at all. Had they been searching for Keith? They’d mentioned his father, his brother, had said something big was going down. The look on Keith’s face, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, glimpsed through a sheet of blonde hair, had practically stopped Lindsey’s heart it was so painful.</p>
<p>     What’s more, Keith had looked so shifty, so nervous throughout the entire conversation, though it appeared to be about…deer? Lindsey wasn’t stupid. She knew they had been speaking in some sort of code, alluding to something that they hadn’t actually said. Those in the know understood, but it left her on the outside gritting her teeth and feeling like an idiot.</p>
<p>     Resisting the urge to let out a growl, Lindsey swept her gaze around the room one last time, before flicking the light switch and setting the alarm. Outside the door, she twisted the key in the lock, letting the keychains jingle and breathing in the cool night air. It was sweet outside, without the lingering smell of stale alcohol clinging to the surfaces.</p>
<p>     Letting a smile grace her features, she grinned up at the moon, glad that she’d managed to get through her third year anniversary of not drinking, even gladder that she’d managed to encourage Keith he could do it, too.</p>
<p>     Hearing the alarm beep to signal it was set, Lindsey tucked her keys into her bag and walked over to her car. It was a beat up piece of junk, a dark green in colour, but it was all she had. She’d feel safer inside it, for certain. There was something about being outside on the streets at night-time that was just so unsettling.</p>
<p>     In the shadows between the streetlights, something moved.</p>
<p>     Sucking in her breath and holding it, Lindsey turned her eyes towards the spot she had seen it, squinting into the shadows. Nothing was there.</p>
<p>     It didn’t reassure her, and she picked up her pace, her feet tap-tap-tapping their way towards her car. Fumbling in her bag as she walked, digging through it to find her key and cursing herself for a fool for keeping her handbag so full of junk, she carried on. Her fingers closed around cold metal, a can that had once held pepper spray before it had leaked all over her bag. She’d promised herself she was going to replace it, but had never got around to it, had never got around to even removing the empty cannister.</p>
<p>     Finally, prying her fingers away from their death-grip on the empty bottle, Lindsey felt the sharp edge of her car key. Prying it up from the bottom of her bag, where it appeared to be stuck in gunk of some sort, she curled it into her fist. Letting the key poke out from between her index and middle finger, remembering her self-defence classes, Lindsey drew her hand out of the bag. She was only a few meters from her car now, but in the shadows, she could still see movement.</p>
<p>     Her car was parked in it’s own shadow, the light from a streetlamp not quite reaching it. Muttering muffled curses under her breath, Lindsey flicked her eyes between the lock set in the flaky-green of her car and the movement in the darkness. It was clearer here, now her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. A man was standing there, watching her, <em>following </em>her. She gulped, hoping to get into the car before anything could happen.</p>
<p>     Tremors in her hands made it difficult for her to slip the key into the lock, the metal slipping and scraping flakes of paint away from the car instead. With quick breaths, she tried to calm herself down, telling herself she could do this, she <em>could</em>.</p>
<p>     Then, she smelt it.</p>
<p>     The sweet night air had taken on a pungent smell. Stale sweat and whiskey. Dread swept like ice through her veins, freezing her in place for a moment, just a moment.</p>
<p>     It was enough. Just as her fingers slotted the key into the lock, something grabbed her. A large hand covered her mouth, a muscle-bound arm wrapping around her rib cage, constricting her. Hefted back against a barrel-large chest, Lindsey tried to struggle. She couldn’t get free. Her attacker’s grip was too tight, his fingers slipping into her mouth and to the back of her throat as she tried to scream, forcing her mouth open, stuffing it full of thickly-gloved fingers, metal-tipped, muffling her voice as it rose up as a wave of sound. Instead of the piercing scream she tried to let out, all that came out was a hot-wet noise.</p>
<p>     From the shadows, a second man was emerging, hat pulled low over his brow. Lindsey recognised the red and white hat, the green coat, the dark skin. This was one of the men Keith had worked with before, or at least his father had, and in amongst her panic she had time to curse Keith for leaving her alone at night. Surely he must have known that she was in danger, that these men were dangerous.</p>
<p>     Kicking out, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Lindsey tried to bite down. His fingers were too far back in her throat, the feeling that she was going to vomit rising in her. The tang of metal and salt burned her tongue, her breath coming in fast, shallow pulls.</p>
<p>     With desperate hands, she reached up and tried to pry the man’s arms off of her, her fingernails digging into leather, leaving scratches in his jacket.</p>
<p>     Letting herself drop suddenly, Lindsey tried to use her weight against him, but the man must have expected it, because he just hefted her up and back, his arm tightening and restricting her breathing even more. Tears still leaking from her eyes, her voice still wailing, muffled, restricted, Lindsey threw her head back, hoping to hit his face. She missed, hitting his shoulder instead with a dull thud. It didn’t hurt her head, so she knew it didn’t hurt his shoulder.</p>
<p>     A sniffling, soppy mess, Lindsey continued to struggle. She didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to let these men have their way with her. Her car was in sight, she could still see the key in the lock of the door. On the floor, her bag was tipped out, the junk inside spread fan-like, splayed in an arc. Just under the tyre of her car was the empty can of pepper spray, resting where it had rolled to with a rattling sound on the asphalt. Eyes fixed on that, Lindsey dug deep, tried to find her resolve.</p>
<p>     Before she could start up another round of struggling, the man from the shadows was upon her. In his hands was a knife, shining orange-bright and wicked in the streetlamps. The cold bite of it kissed her neck, gentle but promising and Lindsey stilled, wide eyes catching on the man before her. Unclean gloved fingers slipped from her mouth, hovering just over her face ready to dive back in should she scream again.</p>
<p>     “Please,” she whined, fingers still curled around the arm across her chest. “Please let me go.”</p>
<p>     “No can do, Sweetheart,” the man behind her whispered in her ear, his breath hot and unpleasant. The stink of whisky and tooth-rot drifted to her, making her gag, and he grabbed her jaw with his hand, her own saliva making her jaw sticky. “You have something we need.”</p>
<p>     “I don’t have any money,” she closed her eyes, hoping to block out what was happening to her. The sharp threat of the blade, the stench of sweat, the arms holding her too tightly, all of them kept her from drifting away into her mind. She was trapped in the moment, near pissing herself with fear. “You can have my car, but I don’t have anything. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”</p>
<p>     She tried to turn her head away from the blade, but rough fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to continue looking up at him. Biting back a sob, she watch the world wobble and distort as more tears bubbled up, then overflowed onto her cheeks. The cool air greeted them, chilling them, leaving tracks of ice on her face.</p>
<p>     “We don’t want your car,” her captor hushed, moving his hand to stroke her hair, a perversion of a soothing gesture. Revulsion flooded her system, her legs clamping tight together. Noticing her movement, he laughed. His amusement caused her stomach to turn over violently. “We don’t want that, either.”</p>
<p>     “Then what do you want?” she whispered, not quite believing them. Infinitesimally, her fingers tightened into the leather-clad arm around her middle.</p>
<p>     “Your connection to Sam Winchester,” the man before her explained, moving his knife to tilt her chin up. She stared defiantly into his eyes, wishing the affect weren’t ruined by her running nose and tear-bright eyes. “You know him as Keith.”</p>
<p>     Kicking herself, Lindsey figured she understood. If she hadn’t been so desperate to work Keith – Sam – out, so desperate to get close to the other man, to be able to ask questions both about him, and about the symbols she’d found on the walls in his motel room, she wouldn’t be in this situation now. This was her own fault for not leaving well enough alone. A lump rose in her throat, difficult to swallow around.</p>
<p>     “See, we think he knows something he’s not telling us. You must have seen how nervous he was tonight,” the voice was soft, close to calming, but the fingers stroking through her hair, the knife gleaming against the soft skin under her chin, did nothing to reassure her. Lindsey knew what he was speaking about, though. Keith – Sam, whatever his name was – <em>had</em> been very nervy in the bar that evening. “But everyone knows Sam Winchester is a bleeding heart. He’ll tell us everything if we threaten you. So all you’re going to do,” the man continued, still aiming for soothing but coming out horrifying, “is you’re going to stand there pretty for us, while Reggie here holds a knife to your throat. We’ll get our answers, and we’ll go. You’ll never have to see us again, okay?”</p>
<p>     Wishing she could give any other answer but knowing she was a dead woman if she didn’t say yes, Lindsey nodded. More tears squeezed out of her eyes, but when the arms retracted from around her, giving her leave to stand on her own feet again, she stood firm, let them take her arms and frog-march her into the bar. She didn’t dare run: Reggie had a knife, and she had no doubt his friend was packing. Briefly, she wondered where the other man was, but shook it off. He was probably out finding Sam, wherever he had run off to.</p>
<p>     Keys picked up from the mess her bag had spilled into the parking lot slipped into the door, and they let her turn the alarm off before dragging her over behind the bar. Pushing her down, they raised one of her wrists up to hook it around a metal bar running the length of the wood on the inside, before pushing her into a crouch. Arm extended over her head, wrist chafing in the cuff, Lindsey curled into herself on the booze-sticky floor, hoping Sam would come.</p>
<p>     Wishing she could have done anything, anything at all to save herself, to not cause this problem for a man just recently clean from his addiction and with a young baby to boot, Lindsey held back tears, telling herself that, next time she was put in a situation where she could help someone instead of hinder, she’d help them for sure. She just had to get through this one, first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missouri left the door of Evan’s room shut-to, having just settled him down for a nap. There was something in the air tonight, something that he’d been picking up on, his powers latching onto the stir even Missouri could feel. He’d been wailing for the better part of an hour, and had only just exhausted himself into sleep. Nervous herself, but choosing not to act on it, Missouri moved into the poky living room of Sam’s cheap apartment.</p>
<p>     Something was niggling at her, something at the back of her mind. It felt like there were two consciousnesses nearby, not just Evan’s, but she suspected it was something to do with his power. She couldn’t be sure; she’d never seen anything like Evan before. All she knew was, despite the demon blood in him, there was nothing evil about him. He, just like his father, just like most other creatures on the Earth, had the potential to choose between good and evil. Missouri trusted Sam, trusted that he would show Evan the right path, even if he’d fallen off of it himself for a little while.</p>
<p>     A battering sound jolted Missouri from her thoughts. Swivelling as fast as her old bones would allow, she faced the doorway. The wood was rattling in it’s frame, something banging loudly against it from the other side. In the other room, Evan started crying again, woken by the noise.</p>
<p>     Backing away from the door, Missouri placed herself in the kitchen. There was a glass cabinet there, one mirrored enough to show her the front door faintly, enough that she could still see it shaking on its hinges.</p>
<p>     Before long, the door started to splinter around the lock, the old wood of it creaking and groaning as the lock pulled off one thump at a time. Within minutes, the door was swinging open on it’s hinges, a dark figure reflected in the glass of the cabinet, peering in.</p>
<p>     Missouri held her breath, reaching out to the other mind. She got flashes and flickers, violence and anger and triumph. There was a focus in there, too, a focus on finding a baby, on stopping the evil of it. Terror gripping her heart, making her chest feel tight, Missouri watched as the figure stepped into the apartment and untucked a knife from their jacket pocket.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Missouri has to defend Evan from attack, and Lindsey is relying on Sam to save her, someone she's worked out has a far from innocent past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Four</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With bated breath, Missouri watched the figure step into the house, sinking back into the shadows to avoid her own reflection being caught in the glass across from her. The man moved into the house without noticing her, heavy-set shoulders imposing as he filled the corridor. He had a one-track mind, barely stopping to glance around as he headed towards the sounds of Evan cries.</p>
<p>     Knowing she had to do something, Missouri pulled open a cupboard as quietly as she could, ignoring the dusty scent from within. Sam hadn’t been cooking anything recently. Biting her lip, Missouri opened every cupboard door, darting her eyes between darkened cupboard interiors and the figure stepping into Evan’s room.</p>
<p>     Finally, Missouri saw what she needed. Holding back her sigh of relief, she reached somehow steady fingers in to grasp the cast-iron of the frying pan, shaking her head to herself as she picked it up. This wasn’t a smart plan, not in the least, but it was the only one she had. She wasn’t as young as she used to be, not as quick or as light on her feet, and this man was going for Evan. The frying pan was all she had, and she was going to use it to her advantage.</p>
<p>     Inching it out of the cupboard, pausing every time it made even the slightest of knocks against the wood, Missouri armed herself. Spinning on her toes, glad that she’d taken her shoes off in the living room – the living room the man had never bothered to check – Missouri crept forwards.</p>
<p>     Holding her body low in a crouch, ignoring the way her back protested angrily, she pressed on. In her chest, her heart beat so loudly she was surprised the invader hadn’t heard it. She could hardly hear anything else, the way it was beating in her head like a hammer on a nail, incessant, violent. Her sucked-in breaths blocked everything else out, unsteady and hidden as they were.</p>
<p>     Taking her time, careful not to scuff her feet on any of the lino or laminate surfaces, Missouri peered her head around the corner. The figure had his back to her, staring down into Evan’s crib. He didn’t even look up as Missouri raised the frying pan by her head, both hands clutched tight around the handle, fingers crooked-stiff.</p>
<p>     Not even daring to breathe, Missouri edged forwards, thanking her lucky stars and all the good spirits of the world that there were no reflective surfaces in the room, nothing to catch her reflection and alert the man before her. For a hunter, he wasn’t paying much attention. Still, there was nothing to warn the man that she was here. Why he thought a baby would be in the house alone was beyond her, but skimming the surface thoughts from his head told her that he really did think he’d got home free on this one.</p>
<p>     Missouri nearly ground her teeth when he reached behind himself, untucking the gun from his waistband.</p>
<p>     Fury rising within her, she readjusted her grip on the pan in her hands, bringing it up towards his head as quick as she could. Throwing her weight behind it, she felt it bash into the back of his skull, ripping from her grasp and flying backwards towards the wall. Where it hit, it left a dent. Before her, the figure stiffened, then began to wobble.</p>
<p>     Realisation dawned quick, terrifying, and Missouri almost screamed as his form began to tip forwards into the crib. Evan was in there, still screaming his little heart out, and he was about to be crushed by the large silhouette swaying above him. With a cry, Missouri jumped forwards, her fingers just skimming over the material of his jacket, slipping and sliding off without catching. It was over. The man was about to crush Evan.</p>
<p>     Just as he went over, a large hand reached out, curling tightly round the shoulder. Yanking backwards, the arm disappeared from Missouri’s periphery, dragging the body with it. With a clattering thump, the hunter sprawled at Missouri’s feet, drool dripping to the floor as he let out a soft, high whine, like a scared dog.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam got to his apartment just in time to see a silhouette listing forwards, about to careen down onto Evan and squash the life right out of him. Acting on pure instinct, Sam shot his hand out to claw at the man’s shoulder, sinking his fingers deep into the flesh, hard enough he knew bruises would form, before yanking backwards with all his strength. With his desperate pull, the man rolled backwards on the balls of his feet, before dropping like a puppet with its strings cut, a droning whine emanating from his mouth.</p>
<p>     A man crumpled at her feet, Missouri tilted her head down to blink at him, before whipping around to face Sam, raising her arms as if she were holding something, about to hit him with it. Flinching backwards just slightly, his foot hit the handle of a pan, sending it skidding with a metallic clanging rattle across the floor. Evan wailed louder.</p>
<p>     As Missouri lowered her arms, relief unfurling across her features like a flower under the sun, a hand pressing to her chest, as if she could stop her heart beating out of it just by holding it in, Sam stepped forward to the crib and reached in, shushing Evan as he did so. His son continued howling for a few moments, but began to taper off into hiccoughing as Sam rocked him gently. Big wet tears rolled down Evan’s face, soaking into the plaid sleeve of Sam’s shirt, but within minutes the last one fell, leaving a shining streak down Evan’s angry red cheeks.</p>
<p>     Grateful for the silence, Sam pressed a kiss to Evan’s forehead, inhaling baby-scent and the cheap washing detergent still clinging to his onesies. With one last sigh, he placed Evan back into his crib, keeping his head hanging over the centre so Evan could see him. Next to him, Missouri drew level, stepping over the figure on the floor to do so.</p>
<p>     “We’re going to need a chair,” Sam growled, turning back to nudge the groaning man with the toe of his boot. “And some rope.”</p>
<p>     Giving a nod, Missouri shuffled off to find suitable equipment.</p>
<p>     Sending one last wistful look at Evan, wishing he could provide more safety to his son, Sam bent down and grabbed the man under his shoulders. He was a heavy-set man, smelling of whiskey and sweat, and it took some effort to move him. While muscle was there, it was hidden under a layer of fat, and by the time Sam had slid his dead-weight along the laminate flooring of the corridor and into the living room, a faint sheen of perspiration had broken over his skin. It was one of his many faults: he sweat a lot.</p>
<p>     In the living room, Missouri was waiting with a chair. It was a little flimsy, but with the dazing concussion the man was suffering from, Sam knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon. Giving a final heave, Missouri holding the chair in place, he dropped the man into the seat. Missouri held his shoulders, her fingers digging tightly, maybe a little vengefully, into his collarbones.</p>
<p>     Releasing his grip slowly, hands held out to catch the man – and Sam could see who it was now: Steve Bose – should he topple off his precarious perch. Missouri’s hold on him was strong enough. He wasn’t going anywhere.</p>
<p>     Leaving the psychic to keep him upright, Sam dashed to his weapons duffle, pulling out the rope he’d coiled into a side pocket earlier. It always helped to be prepared, and while Sam might have settled down briefly, he wasn’t going to get sloppy, not in this time, not in this mess he’d caused.</p>
<p>     Back by Steve’s chair, he uncoiled the rope and began tying Steve in place. It was the work of minutes, Steve held up by firm bonds. Only then did Missouri release her grip, shaking her head and tutting as she did.</p>
<p>     “Shameful,” she declared, wrapping her brown knit cardigan across her chest. “Trying to harm an innocent baby. I’d never thought I’d see the day.”</p>
<p>     Sam spared only a huff for that, narrowing his searching eyes at Steve. “The real question is, where are his friends?” he asked, turning his worried face to Missouri. Her own eyes were large, concern swirling in their brown depths. “He rolled into town with Tim Janklow and Reggie Hull.”</p>
<p>     “Old friends of your daddy,” Missouri noted, arms folded and head shaking in disappointment. “I would have thought they knew better.”</p>
<p>     “Huh,” Sam’s laugh wasn’t amused, far from it. “Evan has powers, Missouri. Most hunters are going to be out for him, if I’m not careful.”</p>
<p>     “We, you mean,” she fixed a stern eye on Sam, one arching eyebrow raised. “I’m not leaving that poor son of yours to the mercies of this world if I can help it, Sam Winchester, just you watch.”</p>
<p>     A brief pang struck through Sam, the desire for Dean to have said those very same words to him, followed by a wave of relief. He wasn’t alone in this, even if Missouri wasn’t quite the same as Dean. If there was anybody he’d want to help him other than his brother or Bobby, it would be Missouri. She’d proved kind and helpful before, if commanding, but Sam knew she was a good woman, a woman who cared deeply for any lost soul that crossed her path. This time, it just so happened to be Sam and Evan.</p>
<p>     Nodding his thanks to her, Sam shifted his attention back to Steve.</p>
<p>     “We’re going to need to wake him up,” Sam decided, pressing his fists onto his hips. A burning rage was running through him when he looked at this man, the fury that he would dare hurt his son, but he knew he had to control it. Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything. They needed answers, not a fight. “Do you think water would do it?”</p>
<p>     “I don’t usually say this,” Missouri hedged, looking between Sam and Steve with a disapproving curl to her lip. “But I could read him.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “It’s invasive. I wouldn’t normally do it without permission, but I get the feeling this is a time-sensitive matter. He’s not going to be responding well for a while, I don’t think.”</p>
<p>     “You’re right about that,” Sighed Sam, rubbing at his forehead. “If you’re sure, Missouri. Thank you.”</p>
<p>     Giving him a decisive nod, Missouri strode forward and placed her hand against his forehead. She didn’t do it meanly, but it wasn’t with the same gentleness that Sam knew she’d afford to other people, either. Steve had angered Missouri gravely in trying to hurt a baby, and she wasn’t going to forgive easily, if at all.</p>
<p>     Waiting patiently, Sam watched as the emotions flickered one after the other across Missouri’s face. Her brow tightened in pain, then furrowed in anger. Her lips tightened in determination, her shoulders tensing as she readied herself, hunching in trepidation at what she would see. When her hand flew back in shock, a gasp reaching her lips as if she’d been stung by a wasp, Sam hurried to her, placing a steadying palm on her shoulder.</p>
<p>     Ducking to meet her gaze, Sam asked, “What is it? What did you see?”</p>
<p>     “They’ve got someone else,” her voice was hoarse, worry strangling her vocal chords tightly, violently. “A blonde woman. She works at a bar. Two men. Darkness. Crying.” she pressed a hand to her forehead hard, squeezing her eyes shut tight. “Anger. Triumph. Threat.”</p>
<p>     With a sorrowful expression, Missouri opened her eyes and turned to Sam, fingers wound tightly into the flannel of his shirt.</p>
<p>     “I couldn’t get anything else,” Missouri admitted, bloodshot gaze studying Sam’s. Sweat beaded on her forehead, a single drop rolling from her hairline down to her brow. “He’s too confused inside, fuzzy. I know they’re going to hurt her if you don’t give them what they want.”</p>
<p>     “I would ask what they wanted,” Sam replied grimly, features hardening into a furious mask. “But I think it’s fairly obvious.” He sighed, closed his eyes. “I have to go help her, Missouri.”</p>
<p>     “Sam…” the woman hesitated, refusing to uncurl her fingers from his shirt. “What about Evan? We have to get out of here, protect that boy. If you care about him at all—”</p>
<p>     “Don’t,” Sam growled, surprising himself with how furious his own voice sounded. He swallowed, softening himself for Missouri. “Don’t. They’ve only focused on Lindsey because of her connection to me. I have to save her. No question.”</p>
<p>     Missouri’s eyes flickered between both of Sam’s, her dark gaze lightening in understanding. With a nod, she let her fingers unclench from his shirt, allowing him to straighten up.</p>
<p>     Free to move, Sam crossed over to his weapons back, taking a knife and tucking it into his belt, sheathed, feeling the cool leather press against his hot-flushed skin. Pulling out his gun, he checked the clip and ensured the safety was on, before tucking it into the back of his pants.</p>
<p>     That done, he tucked one more knife into the ankle of his boot, knowing that it never hurt to be over-armed. The more he had the better when it came to protection, especially against two well-trained opponents. He was going into this alone, no Dean at his back, and he was cautious. There was every potential for this to go majorly wrong.</p>
<p>     Shutting his eyes, Sam tilted his head back and groaned, before reaching into the end pocket of the duffle. Deft fingers slipped the keys to his stolen car out – they’d been in the sun visor, a stupid place to keep them, though it had meant that Sam hadn’t had to hotwire that car – and pressed them tightly into Missouri’s palm as he passed her.</p>
<p>     “Take Evan,” he said, practically begged. “I have to go alone. Meet me in the fir… <em>last </em>motel in the phone book. Check in as… Grace Powers. I’ll meet you there.”</p>
<p>     Receiving Missouri’s sharp nod as an answer, Sam returned his own uncertain one, before hurrying out the door again. He didn’t live too far from Hoyt’s Bar and had walked that afternoon. Setting out of his apartment at a jog, Sam turned himself towards the bar and hoped he’d make it in time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joints locked in fear and pain, Lindsey leaned her head back against the bar. She was still muffling sniffles, tears beading in her eyes but not falling, not giving her captor’s the satisfaction. She was cold, terrified and sore. All she wanted was to go home, but she knew it wasn’t happening any time soon. She was being used as insurance, leverage, and she didn’t even know <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>     What she did know was that Sam had a dark background, one she would have done well to stay away from. He’d practically been screaming at her with his body language, with how closed-off he was, that he wanted to be left alone, that she<em> ought</em> to leave him alone. She’d been too busy seeing a man struggling to overcome an addiction, a man struggling to care for a new-born on his own, to see how dangerous he must be. The surly attitude, the occult symbols, the sheer amount of muscles that man had, not to mention the scars.</p>
<p>     Honestly, she’d been so busy trying to make a friend, anyone to cling onto in the loneliness of her life, she hadn’t really thought about whether that person was a friend she really wanted. Now, she was paying the price.</p>
<p>     In the middle of the room, Tim was pacing, turning on his heels impatiently. Behind the bar with her, Reggie was holding himself still, poised. From the way his hand was tucked into his jacket, she just<em> knew</em> he was fingering a knife, stroking rough fingers over the worn hilt. Occasionally, he’d turn to look over at her, see the way her arm was stretched aching and shaky above her head, and give her a sickening grin. It was almost as if he<em> liked</em> seeing her in pain this way, <em>liked</em> seeing her helpless, and it only added to the fear that Sam wasn’t really going to care that they had her at all. Was he even coming? How would he know to come?</p>
<p>     Closing her eyes, Lindsey shoved her spiralling thoughts down, ignoring the questions that clawed at her mind, clogging up her throat. Panic was tight in her chest, choking her lungs, but she breathed through it, counting her breaths in and out to distract herself. Worrying about her fate now wouldn’t do anything at all. She was here. She was waiting. Sam would either come or he wouldn’t: she was starting to suspect he wouldn’t.</p>
<p>     Just as she was beginning to resign herself to her fate, head bowing to touch her forehead to her knees curled up to her chest, Lindsey heard a noise. The quiet snick of an opening door. It came from the front, and Reggie was on his feet before Lindsey could blink. Tim, too, had stopped his pacing to face the door.</p>
<p>     Gulping down the lump in her throat, Lindsey craned her neck to try and see, but the dark wood of the bar blocked her view. Giving up, she slumped forwards again, curling her fingers into a fist above her head to try to stave off the numbness. Pins and needles shot through her fingers.</p>
<p>     That’s when she saw it. A reflection in the glass of a bottle moved, one that didn’t correlate to Tim or Reggie. It was coming from the wrong direction, from the back door that they hadn’t thought to check. Eyes widening, not sure if she was worrying or hoping, Lindsey fixed her gaze on it. A phantom materialised ghostly in the glass, one that she knew well. She had worked with that same figure for weeks, after all. Next to her, Reggie crouched down again. He’d noticed the reflection, too.</p>
<p>     From out of the shadows at the back of the room, Sam stepped. He had a gun held in his hands, aimed directly at Tim’s back. Tim hadn’t spotted him yet, still peeking his head out the front door and frowning when he caught no sight of Sam. A night-cool breeze blew into the room, chilling the sweat and tears on Lindsey’s face, ruffling Sam’s hair.</p>
<p>     “Turn around,” Sam demanded, voice hard. He removed the safety from the gun with a harsh <em>click</em>. “Hands in the air.”</p>
<p>     Next to her, Reggie pressed his finger to his lip with a gleeful darkness blackening his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam snorted when he saw Tim sticking his head out the front door. It didn’t take a genius to create a diversion like the one he’d made, and the fact that Tim fell for it told Sam all he needed to know: Tim was tired. He’d be sloppy, easy to take down.</p>
<p>     Training his gun on the man, warning him to keep his hands up, Sam darted his eyes around for Reggie. He couldn’t see him, which meant he was most likely hiding behind the bar. He had to assume that was where Lindsey was as well, because he knew she was here. Missouri had said she was here, and he trusted her implicitly, especially when it came to her readings. Reggie was going to be the threat, he knew. Reggie still had his wits about him.</p>
<p>     Carefully, hands up and movements slow, Tim turned around to face Sam. His eyes were shadowed, wary, fingers twitching by the side of his head. Genuine surprise had played across his features as fast as lightning, gone so quickly Sam almost didn’t see it, but he had. He knew he had Tim, at least. That was, until a smile rolled like tar from a barrel onto Tim’s face, slow and sticky.</p>
<p>     “I’d be real careful about what you do, Winchester,” warned Tim, hands still up. The lines of his body suggested he was anything but tense, frame loose and easy. “Reggie has your girl tucked away somewhere.”</p>
<p>     “Behind that bar,” Sam nodded his head towards the bar without taking his eyes off Tim. His voice was clear, focused. He might have taken a break from hunting, but Dean had been right all those years ago. It was like riding a bicycle. He could do this. “Probably got a knife on her, too.”</p>
<p>     “Isn’t he a smart one,” Reggie’s voice chimed in, amused. A figure was rising from behind the bar, dark and imposing. Lindsey rose with him, arm held at an awkward angle in front of her. Panic flared in her eyes, but she was holding it together well, not distracting him. Sam sent an apologetic look her way. She didn’t react. “I’ll cut this bitch’s throat if you don’t give us what we want.”</p>
<p>     “And what do you want, exactly?” Sam asked, shifting his position so he could see both men at once. His gun remained trained on Tim, the bigger threat right then. Reggie would have to get out from behind the bar to get to him, either by going over or around. Either way, it was going to take time, enough time for Sam to react. “Steve was at my apartment. He didn’t give me much of an answer.”</p>
<p>     “What did you do to him, you—” Tim blurted out, but Reggie cut him off.</p>
<p>     “We want to put a stop to that psychic<em> thing</em> you’ve found.” He said, voice cool and smooth. “It’s a monster, Sammy-boy. It needs to be stopped, no matter what age. Once upon a time, you would have known that.”</p>
<p>     “I know hunting isn’t all black and white,” Sam bit out, squashing down the rage that rose whenever a threat was made against Evan. “I know I stopped Steve, and I’ll stop you, too. That ‘thing’, as you call him, is a baby. An innocent. You’re not hurting him.”</p>
<p>     “What would your daddy say, boy?” Tim asked, drawing Sam’s attention back to him. “He’d be disappointed in you for sure.”</p>
<p>     “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam chuckled darkly. John Winchester had told Dean to either kill Sam or save him. He knew for a fact that John would have killed him long before he could have sired a half-demonic child such as Evan. Disappointment was too weak a word for what John would feel, Sam knew. “But then, John wasn’t always right, either.”</p>
<p>     Sam knew this to be true, too. John may have been a great hunter, one of the best. He was a legend, but he was a hard man. Everything was very black and white to John, and Sam and Dean had already discovered that things weren’t as clear-cut or stark as that while hunting together. Sometimes, there were shades of grey. To Sam, this wasn’t one of them. His son was innocent, no matter his blood, and they weren’t touching him.</p>
<p>     “He was right about this,” Reggie declared, drawing Sam’s attention back to him. “Get him, Tim.”</p>
<p>     With Sam’s momentary distraction, Tim leaped forwards and smacked the gun out of Sam’s hands. It landed on the floor with a bang, a bullet flying out and splintering a table leg, causing it to fall with a clatter. The noise startled Sam just a little, enough that when Tim reached him fully, he caught a fist to the jaw.</p>
<p>     Pain bloomed on his face, a red mark blossoming where he just<em> knew</em> a bruise would be in less than a day’s time. His head flew backwards, eyes treated to a view of the ceiling and sparkling stars dancing just before him. Gritting his teeth with a low groan, Sam blinked his vision back to normal and let himself relax, sinking into a ready stance within seconds of the punch.</p>
<p>     An echoing ache still rattled around his brain as he struck out, punching Tim back. The man let out a huff of air as it was knocked out of him, but Sam didn’t stop. Throwing out another fist, he clipped him across the cheek, then back across the other, sending Tim’s head flying from side to side. As the man was backing off a little, shaking his head, Sam threw out his hand again, hitting Tim’s nose with the heel of his hand, breaking the cartilage with a sickening crunch. Tim let out a wounded sound, the gurgle of blood already running into his mouth muffling it.</p>
<p>     Across the room, Lindsey let out a startled squeak.</p>
<p>     At first, Sam thought that the shining crimson, pouring out of Tim’s nostrils in ruby lines was what caused her to cry out. Blood dripped to the carpet below, catching in the dim lights as it fell. Turning his attention away from the staggering Tim, Sam looked at what had really caused her to yell.</p>
<p>     Reggie held a blade to her throat, blonde hair wound around one hand, tangling with his fingers. Lindsey’s head had been yanked to the side, revealing her pulse-point, and the wicked grin of the knife’s edge rested against the artery, hesitating only in threat. Sam stopped moving, holding his hands out placatingly.</p>
<p>     Just as he was about to speak, try to convince Reggie to let her go, arms wrapped around him from behind, startling the breath out of him.</p>
<p>     “Give us what we want, Sam,” a stuffy voice hissed into his ear. Blood flecks splattered onto his neck, some spattering his cheek like freckles. Revulsion rose in Sam, flashes of a nurse dropping at his feet flickering through his mind. He shook them off. “We all know you’re not going to let an innocent human die to save a monster. Everyone knows you’re the bleeding-heart Winchester.”</p>
<p>     “Maybe I’ve had enough with the blood,” Sam chocked out, wedging his fingers under the arm pressing down on his trachea. With the relaxed pressure, his voice hardened once more. “You should talk to my brother. I’m sure he’d <em>love</em> to help you.”</p>
<p>     Sam hadn’t meant the bitterness to burst out of him. His only excuse was the situation he was in, the pressure he was under. He had to get himself and Lindsey out of this somehow, without either of them being too injured. Preferably, he’d get Tim and Reggie out of this alive, too, though not without incapacitating them. Make them hurt, just a little, and he’d have enough time to get away while they were resting up and licking their wounds.</p>
<p>     “You don’t stop fighting right now, Sam, and I’ll tell Reggie to slit your bitch’s throat,” Tim warned, tangy-iron and booze reaching Sam’s nostrils. He wrinkled his nose. “Give us the baby.”</p>
<p>     “I don’t have him,” Sam responded honestly. He really didn’t have Evan right then, had given him to Missouri to look after for him. Readying himself to free himself from the hold Tim had on him, Sam searched out Lindsey’s eyes, hoping she’d understand the message he was trying to get across. It took him a few moments, a few tries, but eventually her eyes rose up to meet his. Fear shone bright in their brown depths. Hoping against hope that she would understand his meaning, he rose his eyebrows towards her as if to say <em>watch this</em>. Determination set her jaw and hardened her brow, just as Sam said, “And even if I did have him, I wouldn’t give him to <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>     That said, Sam stomped down on the instep of Tim’s foot, hearing the hiss Tim gave in pain. As the man behind him tried to curl down protectively, Sam threw his elbow back, hitting Tim’s sternum. The breath blew out of him, bubbling through the blood and spitting it onto Sam’s back. From behind the bar, Sam heard the tell-tale noises that told him Lindsey had copied him.</p>
<p>     Quick as a flash, Sam spun around and swung his leg out, catching his ankle behind Tim’s and pulling, letting the man crash to the ground. Reaching arms were easily evaded, and Tim hit the ground with a thump, the breath whooshing out of him again. Looking down, Sam saw the other man’s lower face was a bloody mess. He wondered if he had looked like that after drinking people dry, but shook the thought off. It wasn’t the time to languish in his misery.</p>
<p>     Dropping down to straddle Tim, Sam let his fists fly again. Making sure not to lose control, Sam hit the other man enough to knock him out. When he lay limp but still breathing – Sam checked his pulse: strong and steady – Sam slumped a little, panting heavily. Hunting and fighting might have been like riding a bicycle, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get out of shape. He was going to have to start up his training again if he was ever going to get back out on the road, ever going to stop the apocalypse.</p>
<p>     A clatter drew his attention.</p>
<p>     Behind the bar, Lindsey and Reggie were still tussling. Lindsey had finally managed to knock the knife out of Reggie’s hand, but his other hand was still curled into her hair, yanking her head backwards, making it almost impossible for her to defend herself. Flying to his feet, Sam darted to the bar and launched himself over it, tackling Reggie as he went. Hair tangled in Reggie’s grip, Lindsey went too, letting out a wounded yelp when her wrist yanked in the cuff as she fell.</p>
<p>     With Reggie struggling under him, Sam tried hard not to get bucked off. The other man wasn’t nearly as big as Sam, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t strong, or a good hunter. The only benefit Sam had was that Reggie’s hand wasn’t leaving Lindsey’s hair, not because he refused to let go, but because some rings on his left index and pinky fingers were stuck. With her only free hand, Lindsey was trying to pull her hair free, her blonde tresses gathered into her tugging fist. It was a tug-of-war with her hair as the rope, but it meant Sam only had to defend himself from one fist flying at him.</p>
<p>     It didn’t take long for both his hands to wrap around Reggie’s wrist and drag his arm down. Pinning the man’s wrist beneath his knee, feeling the small bones grind between his knee-cap and the floor, Sam lashed out, hitting Reggie as he’d hit Tim. Within minutes, Reggie was out for the count, though much less bloody than his friend. Once again, Sam slumped over the other man, finally taking a moment to catch his breath.</p>
<p>     “Let me go!” Lindsey barked out, not even stopping to thank him. Sam didn’t blame her: he wouldn’t have thanked him if he’d been witness to this fight. “Uncuff me! Let me go!”</p>
<p>     Nodding to her, Sam reached into his pocket and fished out his lockpicks. Before he leaned over her cuffs, though, he leaned forwards and grabbed the dropped dagger, pressing it into Lindsey’s palms. At her confused look, he told her, “For your hair.”</p>
<p>     Heaving a sigh but looking resigned, Lindsey nodded. Trying to slice through her hair, but finding it difficult with only one hand, she let Sam unpick the handcuffs. It took a few seconds, but when it was done she lowered her arm, groaning at the relaxation of the muscle, and whimpering as her wrist came into contact with her thigh. Suspecting it wasn’t broken – he hadn’t heard a snap of bone – Sam let her get on with it. Having both hands free let her slice through her hair far easier, and she began to sit up as her hair came free, ragged and clumpy, but no longer trapped in Reggie’s ringed-grip.</p>
<p>     Staggering to her feet, she dropped the dagger. Sam only just moved out of the way in time, barely avoiding a shallow cut to the knee where he was knelt down. Rubbing her wrist, Lindsey moved backwards, not meeting Sam’s eyes. Reaching the end of the bar, she looked between Sam and the door, then ordered, “Don’t follow me.”</p>
<p>     Sending her a nod, Sam watched as she took off running out of the bar, shouldering her way outside. There was a pause while Sam suspected she picked up her purse (he’d found it spilled over the asphalt as he came towards Hoyt’s), then the rumble of an engine. Glad that she’d got away safe, Sam stood up.</p>
<p>     Before long, he’d got Tim and Reggie next to each other and handcuffed, checking their pockets and removing any lockpicking devices or paper clips they’d been carrying. Slipping them into his own pockets – it wouldn’t do to leave them anywhere the men could find them – Sam snuck out of the bar and into the night, breathing the sweet air deeply into his lungs. It was time to go back and get Evan and Missouri. With Tim, Reggie and Steve still alive, their fight was only about to begin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later that night, after Sam had fed Evan and changed him into a new onesie, this one grey and covered in cartoon sheep, Sam remained awake. Missouri was sleeping in the room next door, Sam left alone and restless.</p>
<p>     Groaning softly to himself, he sat up. He was just about to get himself a coffee, knowing that he’d be up all night and need the caffeine, when a knock sounded at the door. Ice shot through him.</p>
<p>     Eyes wide, fingers curled around the handle of his gun, Sam snuck over to the door. There was a peephole in it, and he pressed his eyes to it, squinting into the darkness. A woman stood at the door, looking nervous, jumpy. Her hair was ragged, shining a dull silver in the moonlight. Something about her seemed familiar, tickling at his brain. Then it clicked.</p>
<p>     He opened the door.</p>
<p>     “<em>Lindsey</em>?”</p>
<p>     “Hey, Sam,” she chuckled harshly, eyes dark and brow lowered. “I want some answers, and I want them now.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't worry, Gabriel and Sam will come face to face soon! In the next few chapters, for sure. I've not forgotten that this is supposed to be a Sam/Gabe, don't worry! Also, Dean isn't just going to be relegated to being an arsehole on the sides. I am totally going to bring him back into the picture, so the boys can be brothers again. :) </p>
<p>Anyway, as I say, I hoped you liked this chapter. Please feel free to leave a comment if you wish! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lindsey wants an explanation, but Sam just wants her safe, away from him. In his attempt to warn her away, he scares her, but then something else scares her even more.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Five</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had travelled from motel to motel on foot and through air, searching for the power he’d felt awakening. Every time he landed, it became obvious almost immediately that no barriers were up, that nobody was hiding from anyone at all where he had appeared. No power pulsed in the darkened rooms, no wards shielded irregularly, grappling with the immensity of the power they wished to protect. He had already checked three motels.</p>
<p>     Frustration bubbling within him, churning his own power furiously, he landed in another motel parking lot. White doors winked at him under the streetlights, the shine of the lights kissing over his own golden face.</p>
<p>     All except one.</p>
<p>     A black rectangle gaped out of the line, like a tooth had been knocked out of a rictus grin. It swung on its hinges in the fluttering breeze, a warning to any who dared look.</p>
<p>     Something about the darkness within the frame warned him away, told him he couldn’t enter, shouldn’t enter. It wasn’t strong enough to keep him out – very little ever was – but it was enough to serve as a warning. Someone didn’t want his kind in there.</p>
<p>     Shoving his way through the flimsy barrier, feeling tendrils of it curl around his limbs and trail behind him as he ventured into the darkness, he sensed it. Understanding dawned, why the room was so foreboding to him: it was warded against lesser forms of his kind, against things equal to him and things greater, but not against him himself. It was almost as if the warder hadn’t thought to ward against his kind, or like they didn’t know how.</p>
<p>     Which it was wasn’t important right then, save for suggesting he might encounter little resistance from those hiding his prize from him. No, what was important was the feeling in the air, the humming vibration rising from the cot at the back of the room, fizzing through his entirety and bursting out the other side, as pure as the day he had felt it first. What he was searching for had been in this room, and now he had a place to start. Somebody here, in this green atrocity of a motel, could give him the answers he needed to home in on his target.</p>
<p>     With a satisfied nod to himself, he stepped back out of the darkness, and into the night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………….   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>     Sam blinked furiously down at Lindsey, hardly daring to believe what his own eyes were telling him. He had deliberately tried to lose her, to make sure she wouldn’t be able to find him again, yet there she stood before him, angry and demanding on his doorstep. Her face darkened as she received no answer, but Sam had none to give. Astonishment was roaring through him, followed by anxious confusion, enough to make his jittery nerves start screaming at him once again.</p>
<p>     “Earth to Sam,” she said, waving a hand in front of his face. When he still didn’t speak, she invited herself in, shoulder bumping hard against his as she went. Hissing at the ache it sent crawling up his over-worked arms, Sam turned to follow her progress. “I’m here for answers, Sam. I’m not leaving until I get some.”</p>
<p>     “That’s maybe not a good idea,” he suggested somewhat lightly, finally breaking out of his stupor and closing the door behind her. He shut it tentatively, letting it click softly so as not to wake Evan. He was in the crib across the room, tucked into the corner where he would be safe. Lindsey was pacing just a few steps away from him, making Sam shift from foot to foot. He wanted to stand in front of Evan, wanted to use his body as a shield to protect him. He’d trusted Lindsey with him before, but not now, now that she knew how dangerous he was. “Lindsey, you’ll only get hurt.”</p>
<p>     “Why?” she demanded, her voice loud over the sound of a distant car alarm. Startled, Sam edged closer to Evan. “Are <em>you</em> going to hurt me, Sam?” </p>
<p>     “No!” Shocked, Sam held his arms up in supplication, hands raised and fingers spread. “I would ne—” He broke himself off, biting his chapped lips and closing his eyes, guilt brimming up in his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t tell her he’d never hurt her; he’d hurt so many innocent people before, he just didn’t know anymore. Would he hurt her? Probably. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lindsey.”</p>
<p>     “So don’t,” she shrugged, as if it were that easy. “Give me answers.”</p>
<p>     “You won’t like them,” he warned, inching further around the bed. His jeans caught on a frayed edge on the coverlet, tugging it askew on the mattress as he passed. Crinkles worked their way over the covers like cracks through which only darkness could be seen, spearing through the greenery and the birds embroidered there. “I really think you should just go.”</p>
<p>     Instead of answering, Lindsey folded her arms and shifted her hip, the exact image of a stubborn teenager used to getting her own way. If it weren’t for the cheap clothing and the ragged hair-cut, nothing would separate her from a spoiled daddy’s girl. Sam wondered if she had been that way, before alcoholism and broken familial bonds had brought her life crashing down around her.</p>
<p>     Running his hands over his face, shrugging off his uncharitable thought, Sam sighed.</p>
<p>     He was stubborn as they came, even he knew that. His own father had written it in his journal, seemingly impressed with Sam’s will. Now, Sam knew better. It was his will that had set him on this course, his unshakeable belief that what he was doing the right thing. Perhaps it was time to learn from his mistakes and take a new path, let someone else’s stubbornness win out over his for once in his life.</p>
<p>     Gathering his thoughts, Sam faced away from Lindsey. Back to her, he leaned down over the crib, reaching down to stroke fingers feather-light and fleeting over Evan’s scalp. He was still sleeping, little eyes flickering behind closed lids, hand up by his cheek with his thumb out, an aborted attempt to suck it. Sending a soft smile Evan’s way, Sam turned back to Lindsey and nodded.</p>
<p>     “What do you want to know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprise washed through Lindsey as Sam agreed, enough to make her folded arms drop without her permission. For a few seconds she stood there, mouth hanging open a little, just enough to suck in a tiny gasp. Then, she moved to sit in the rickety chair provided in the room, tucked under a sticky-sheened table. She took care not to touch the surface as she hooked her foot around the chair leg and slumped in it, still a little shaky from earlier that night.</p>
<p>     Wary hazel eyes watched her as she moved, Sam’s stance warning her that he was still keyed up and ready to fight should he need to. The way he was holding himself, the way he sank down on the bed directly in between her and the baby – and was the baby really called Robbie? Was the baby really Sam’s son? – the way his gaze flicked over her, cataloguing every movement she made with distrust, told her that <em>she</em> was the big threat Sam saw right now. It was hard to suppress her laugh, hysterical as it would have been.  </p>
<p>     “Where do I want to start?” she began, shaking her head again. The lightness of her head still surprised her, unused to having such short hair. Faint bitterness rose up in her chest, but she shoved it down. It wasn’t Sam’s fault that that man had tangled her hair around his rings. “How about your name? It’s not Keith Bates, is it?”</p>
<p>     “No,” his voice was both wary and resentful, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Dark eyes refused to meet her gaze, fixed on the carpet. “It’s Sam Winchester.”</p>
<p>     “Is Keith your middle name?” she asked, starting easy. If she could lull him into a false sense of security, maybe she could get other answers out of him, bigger answers. “Because Samuel Keith really is ridiculous.”</p>
<p>     He cracked a smile at that. It was faint and twitching at the edges, struggling to cling to his face, but it was there.</p>
<p>     “No,” he shook his head, brown strands falling into his eyes, catching on his lashes. “I don’t actually have a middle name. My mom, uh…” he cut himself off, shrugging guiltily. When Lindsey gestured for him to continue, he shook his head but carried on. “Apparently, my mom always said she had enough trouble thinking up names for me and my brother in the first place, without having to think of middle names.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey nodded, digesting the information slowly. It wasn’t often Sam opened up about himself – the most she’d got from him so far was a little information about his drug experiments and his actual name, and how messed up was he that <em>that</em> was an accomplishment? – so any information she could out of him was recorded mentally, put towards understanding the enigma hunched in front of her.</p>
<p>     “Okay, alright,” she allowed, her eyes flickering from Sam over to the crib. The baby had been remarkably silent, barely stirring at their speaking. “What about Robbie? Is that his real name? More importantly, is he yours?”</p>
<p>     At the mention of the baby, Sam uncurled. Wide shoulders practically doubled in size, and eyes practically married to the floor separated for a moment, shifting upwards, flinty when they met Lindsey’s own. She could read the warning in them clearly, and she wasn’t going to test it.</p>
<p>     “His name is Evan,” words were spat through gritted teeth, a growl toughening the edges of the words so they hit Lindsey like bullets. “He’s mine.”</p>
<p>     “And his mother?”</p>
<p>     “She’s dead.”</p>
<p>     If his previous words had been bullets, those were a knife, stabbing right into Lindsey’s soft belly. Not only had this man been addicted to some sort of drugs, not only was his child being hunted by ex-co-workers of his, but he’d lost the woman he’d loved, the woman he’d cared about enough to have a child with, as well? No wonder he looked so tired and lost all the time; Lindsey would probably be mid-breakdown, if she were in his place.</p>
<p>     “I’m sorry,” she kept her voice soft, sympathetic. Ignoring Sam’s muttered ‘don’t be’, she carried on. Clenching her fingers in her lap to prevent them from reaching out to Sam, a man who obviously didn’t want to be touched, she asked, “What happened?”</p>
<p>     “We killed her,” Lindsey’s heart stopped. “Me and my brother, we killed her.”</p>
<p>     “What?” she whispered, fear fluttering in her stomach, resettling itself around her heart and clutching it’s sharp claws around her vocal chords. Voice strained, eyes wide and fixed on the hulking figure alighted on the bed, she continued, “How? Why?”</p>
<p>     <em>It has to have been an accident</em>, she told herself, refusing to let Sam out of her sights. Even blinking could put her at risk. <em>Please let it be an accident. He didn’t mean to do it, and now he blames himself</em>—</p>
<p>     “I took Evan out of the way,” Sam cut her thoughts off, voice sharp with barely concealed fury. His eyes were wild, flashing with some fiery presence that Lindsey couldn’t explain. She cringed back into her seat, fingers digging into the surface of the table. Her nails sunk through the sticky layer, bending painfully against the wood. “And I let Dean run her through.”</p>
<p>     She was going to be sick.</p>
<p>     “Why?” her gorge was rising, but she had to know. Sam had seemed so nice, a gentle giant. Yes, he had been guarded, but she thought he was hiding normal secrets, secrets like the drugs and the self-recrimination so evident in his eyes whenever he looked at anything, anything at all, but this…? This was something else, something murderous and dark and twisted, and Lindsey wanted out. Now. “Why did you <em>do</em> that?”</p>
<p>     “Because she lied to me,” Voice flat, Sam explained. He wasn’t making things any better, and Lindsey could see he knew it. The odd thing was, from the play of expressions flitting across his face, Lindsey wasn’t sure whether he wanted to make it better. “She lied to me, and now people are going to get hurt because of me.” He huffed a sour laugh. “Still want to know my secrets?”</p>
<p>     Shaking her head, Lindsey tried to blink back tears. Panic was pounding against her ribs like prisoners against cell bars, screaming at her to let it out. A wail was building in her throat, the cry of her panic, and the room was starting to blur around her. Blackness was edging in around her vision, her breathing kicking in harshly to combat it, but nothing was working. Her chest hurt, her hands reaching up of their own accord, scoring red lines into her pale flesh.</p>
<p>     She had expected something silly, something occult but harmless, not this, never this, God, anything but this—</p>
<p>     “Lindsey!” A face was right in front of hers when her eyes flew open, a bruise blossoming dark purple across the cheek. “Lindsey, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.</p>
<p>     Shaking her head, she tried to push him away, fingers weak and ineffective at his shoulder. It was like a kitten trying to bat away a Great Dane: never going to happen. Chest tight and eyes wider, she let her legs kick out, trying to hit him, but he only moved backwards, away. A hand caught at hers, lifting it up from her lap where she’d dropped it. His fingers were like fire against hers, branding but anchoring.</p>
<p>     When her eyes rolled across his face again, she saw his lips were moving. Breaths still coming in gulps too tight and fast, she tried to focus on what he was saying.</p>
<p>     “—with me,” his voice was low, soothing, the difference stark from what it had been earlier. “Just breathe, Lindsey. In and out, deep breaths. You can do it, come on.”</p>
<p>     Nodding along, Lindsey took a stuttered breath in, kicking herself that it wasn’t smoother. Still, the hand curled around hers squeezed gently, features morphing into an encouraging mask. Squeezing her own fingers into his flesh, digging deep to ground herself, she sucked in another and another, watching in relief as the darkness began to back away.</p>
<p>     “You’re okay, Lindsey,” he promised, hushing her gently. “I’ve got you, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Promise.”</p>
<p>     With each soft comfort Sam whispered, Lindsey felt herself drawn back to normal, her airways loosening and letting deep draws of air into her lungs. The darkness retreated, leaving the room open and dimly lit, Sam crouched in front of her as she continued to catch her breath. Her fingers still curled painfully tight into his, the white of his skin attesting to how harshly she was gripping him.</p>
<p>     Relaxing her grasp, she let go of his hand and leaned backwards in her chair, her breath slowly returning to her.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Lindsey began to calm down, Sam backed away at a crouch, hands held up to reassure her.</p>
<p>     He had known as he was telling his story that he was being cruel, had been deliberately trying to scare a woman who had already been through a trying experience that day, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to care. All that mattered was protecting her, warning her away, even if that meant scaring her. What he hadn’t counted on, was that she would have a panic attack.</p>
<p>     Guilt curling in his stomach, Sam retreated to the bed, shoulders hunched as they sat in the quiet. In the distance, a car alarm was blaring, and there came the faint rumble of an engine passing at the end of the street. Lindsey’s breaths were softening, no longer the harsh gasps they had been but shaky, drawn out things. Behind him, Evan whimpered a little in his crib, but he didn’t stir beyond that.</p>
<p>     “I’m sorry,” Sam said again, closing his eyes against his view of Lindsey’s fearful stare. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I should probably explain myself.”</p>
<p>     “Yes,” Voice hoarse and whispered, Lindsey nodded harshly. “You should do that.”</p>
<p>     Sam sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down, revelling in the slight pain it brought him. It wasn’t so much he would cry out or bleed, but it was enough to clear his head, to help him pack his emotions away into little boxes and ignore them for some time more.</p>
<p>     Wondering how best to explain to the woman, Sam stood and shuffled towards Evan. His son was wriggling in his crib, blinking sleep-crusted blue eyes up at him. Tiny eyelashes splayed on Evan’s cheeks like wings, delicate and beautiful.</p>
<p>     Sam couldn’t withhold his enamoured smile. No matter what was going on, no matter how evil Evan might turn out to be one day, his son always made him just that little bit happier, just that little bit more reassured. He had been doing this all for Dean, but now he was doing it for Evan. It was enough to get him through.</p>
<p>     Carefully, he reached into the crib and hefted his son up. With the hefty weight in his arms, he crossed over to Lindsey, crouching down near her chair. Brown eyes met blue, and a tiny fist reached up to curl into ragged blonde strands of hair, soft fingers holding on gently. Deftly, Sam untangled the fist and held it between his thumb and forefinger instead.</p>
<p>     “This is Evan Dean Winchester,” Sam explained to her, rocking Evan softly as he began to whine. “He’s my son, but I didn’t know about him, not until after he was born. It’s kind of important to my story.”</p>
<p>     “Okay,” Lindsey’s voice was stronger, her chin dipping in a slow nod. “You didn’t know you had a son. Got it.” She looked thoughtful, the line between her eyebrows deep as a valley. Her eyes were still flicking over Sam, watching him carefully, but she had relaxed a great deal after he had picked up Evan, like she knew he was one of the few people in the world Sam would never hurt. “What else?”</p>
<p>     “I’m glad you’re sitting down,” Sam chuckled darkly, moving backwards until he was sitting on the bed again. The sheets were rough underneath him, catching on his jeans and rumpling uncomfortably beneath his thighs. “Because this is where it gets interesting.” He took a deep breath. “Monsters are real.”</p>
<p>     “What?”</p>
<p>     “Monsters are real,” Patiently, Sam watched Lindsey, waiting for the light of understanding to dawn in her eyes. Most people didn’t believe him or Dean when they told them this, and he had a feeling Lindsey would be no different. “They’re real, and I hunt them.”</p>
<p>     “I don’t believe you.” Lindsey was shaking her head, pressing her hands to her face. The furrows in her forehead were still visible over the tops of her fingers, wrinkling her pale skin terribly. “I mean, I saw the… the sigils?... in the motel room, but I mean…”</p>
<p>     “That was warding,” Sam explained, stroking a finger down Evan’s cheek as he met her eyes steadily. Stark disbelief stared back at him, cracks of fear splintering her expression. She didn’t believe him, thought he was crazy. Toes pressing into the ground, Lindsey leaned forward in her seat. She was going to run. He had very little time to explain, then. “It was to keep demons out. Demons, angels, demi-Gods, anything else I could think of. Anything that could be repelled by salt… They’re coming for me. Might be coming for me even now. I need to hide.”</p>
<p>     “Sure you do,” Lindsey nodded, standing slowly. Placing one foot behind the other, she tried to back out slowly, keeping her movements slow as if he were a cornered animal, ready to pounce at any moment. “And I need to go.”</p>
<p>     “Okay,” he allowed, gesturing with his free arm to the door. “If you want to go, then go.”</p>
<p>     It would be better if she went, if she ran far away and never looked back. The further she was from Sam and Evan, the better. Missouri ought to go too, but she was sleeping right then, and she wasn’t the sort of woman Sam wanted to disturb. Frankly, she intimidated him, yet still comforted him in her own way, too.</p>
<p>     Lindsey was at the door, heels flush against the line of salt Sam had laid down. Around her, on the pale yellow walls, runes and warding rose in arching swoops, bold, solid. Despite knowing it didn’t make the warding stronger, Sam had felt the need to paint the warding large, big enough that he could see it in the darkness of midnight, the only light shining through the windows the street lamps. They wouldn’t be staying for long, just that evening in fact, but the stark lines looming in the dim of the room had helped settle Sam’s already flighty nerves.</p>
<p>     Back against the door, Lindsey studied Sam. Her fingers had curled around the lock, latched tightly into the blackened metal of it. Eyes flickered over him, dark in the dull light, the lines of her face tight as she studied him. She bounced on the balls of her feet, clearly torn between staying and going, probably caught in a morbid fascination to hear the rest of what Sam had to say. It was most likely nothing more than a desire to understand his crazy, a need to be absolutely certain that what had happened to her that night wasn’t her fault, but it was strong enough that it was keeping her there.</p>
<p>     With a heavy sigh, Lindsey slumped down, defeat slackening her shoulders.</p>
<p>     “If monsters are real, then prove it,” she decided. Sam raised a brow. “Summon a demon right now.”</p>
<p>     “No,” Sam shook his head. There would be none of that, not tonight, not <em>ever</em>. “If you want to believe me, then believe me, but I’m not summoning a demon. It’s too dangerous.”</p>
<p>     “Too dangerous?” She looked to be considering this, eyes drifting around the room, focusing on nothing in particular. “Then why do they want <em>you</em>?”</p>
<p>     “They don’t want me,” He reassured, before wincing internally. “Scratch that,” he restarted, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the faint light he could see through the crack in the curtains. “They do want me, but they want Evan more.”</p>
<p>     “Why?” Lindsey asked, horror twisting her expression. Her brown eyes were riveted on his son, the boy’s small form wriggling in Sam’s arms. “He’s just a baby.”</p>
<p>     “It’s because of what he is,” Sam admitted, folding Evan just a little closer into his chest. Lindsey’s eyes darted up, scanning his face in confusion. “I told you I didn’t know I had him until he was born?” At her confirmation, he continued. “That’s because his mother hid him from me. He was just another tool to manipulate me into doing something really bad, Lindsey. And I did do something really bad. But Evan is innocent in this, just the product of my own terrible choices and… and a demon’s machinations.”</p>
<p>     “A… a demon’s…?” Her voice was incredulous. She took a tottering step towards him, neck craned as if she could peer down into Evan’s face from this distance, see the way in which he was part demon, part monster. But he wasn’t. Shading the baby’s rose-tinged face with his palm, fingers softly stroking Evan’s hair, Sam nodded. “Your son is part <em>demon</em>? And you’re<em> okay</em> with that?”   </p>
<p>     “It’s not his fault,” Sam snapped. Lindsey flinched back, hands up in surrender. “He didn’t ask for any of this. This is <em>my</em> fault. I should have been more careful, should have known.”</p>
<p>     “Okay,” Lindsey tried to soothe, rubbing a hand over her lips. “Okay, so… So you have a demon kid… That’s fine. That’s not weird at all. That’s totally fine.”</p>
<p>     Her footsteps clunked against the ragged carpet, the floorboards almost visible it was so worn. One hand was on her hip, the other running over her face and clutching at her hair. She appeared to be nodding to herself, having an entire conversation with someone who wasn’t there. Sam left her to it, not wanting to interrupt. That night’s events had already been a lot for her, and if she needed time to process, he wasn’t going to be the one to take it away from her.</p>
<p>     “So, let’s say I believe you,” she whirled quickly, causing Sam to jump. His eyes had slid away from her, but they snapped back to her face when she spoke. “Let’s say I believe you, and that that baby,” she jabbed at Evan with a finger, the others curled into a fist so tight he could almost hear her knuckles creaking. “is part demon. What do the other demons want him for, huh?”</p>
<p>     Sam opened his mouth, readying an answer. It died on his tongue.</p>
<p>     In his arms, Evan was wriggling in earnest, waving his tiny fists around. A high-pitched shriek was coming from his throat, blue eyes wide and rolling, tearing between Sam and the door. Lindsey stopped her frantic pacing, confusion clinging to her features as she furrowed her brow at the baby.</p>
<p>     Something moved behind the curtains. The glow of the streetlamp flickered out for a brief moment. </p>
<p>     “What—” she began. She never finished. The door blew open, flinging so hard against the door that the wall dented on the other side. The bang echoed throughout the room, hurling itself around the walls and back out the door into the parking lot.</p>
<p>     Stumbling back, Lindsey tried to grab at Sam, her fingers scrabbling against the material of his flannel. Jumping to his feet, he pushed her behind himself, Evan still clutched tightly in his other arm. The baby had started crying, fat tears falling down his ever reddening face.</p>
<p>     In the doorway, stood a figure. A familiar figure.</p>
<p>     It was a form Sam knew well, one he’d spent months familiarising himself with, months learning from, teased by. It was a form that sent horror spearing through him, splitting him in two straight down to his gut.</p>
<p>     “Hey there, Sammich,” the voice was cruelly amused, darkened amber eyes studying Sam like he was a particularly interesting TV show. “You’re a hard man to find.”</p>
<p>     With a snap of his fingers, the wards in the room began to dissolve, transforming into dust before his eyes.</p>
<p>     “Oh my God, you were telling the truth,” Lindsey whispered behind him, voice cracking softly with fear. Her fingers were curled tight into the back of his shirt, her grip tight enough to pull the material across his throat, blocking his airways. It was difficult to breathe, though he didn’t think it was just the tightened neckline of the greying flannel he was wearing.</p>
<p>     “Lindsey, let go,” he begged, trying to move backwards. There was nowhere to run, not with the Trickster standing in the doorway. “Please, you have to get out of here.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, she’s not going anywhere,” the Trickster smirked, clicking his fingers again. Within seconds he was in the room in a rush of sound, like a flock of birds or the roar of a waterfall. It was difficult to hear over the pounding of blood in his own ears. The slam of the door shuddered the room, locking Loki’s powers in with them. They smelt of heat, burnt sugar and tangy iron, the bitter salt of sweat. Loki tilted his head in a way reminiscent of Dean’s angel, Castiel. “I have a question for you, Winchester.” He pointed at the wailing bundle in Sam’s arms, a wicked grin spreading across his face, too many teeth glinting in his smile. “What have you got there? Because it looks to me like something I’ve been searching for, for quite some time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I told you Gabriel and Sam would meet soon! (I will admit, I had forgotten they met this soon, though, I wrote this chapter so long ago! :)) </p>
<p>Anyway, as I said, I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave a comment, if you wish. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Loki has found Sam and Lindsey, and there seems to be little they can do to escape. Lindsey angers a God, and Missouri has always been a naturally terrifying woman.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have checked it over for mistakes, but I think I've caught a cold, so I might have missed something, as I'm feeling a little off. If there are any grammatical errors or spelling errors, I do apologise. </p>
<p>Anyway, as I said, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please feel free to comment if you wish. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Six</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lindsey stumbled back behind him as Sam drew backwards hesitantly. It was only when Lindsey stopped abruptly, back against the wall, that Sam pulled up short. Before them, Loki filled the doorway, rictus grin on his face. Wicked sharp teeth were gleaming at them, brows lowered and darkened eyes angry, watching them like they were particularly revolting insects. Over his shoulder, Sam heard a panicked whimper.</p>
<p>     Crooked fingers clenched the back of his shirt as Sam swept one arm out, the other still cradling Evan to his chest. He held back his own terrified cry as he stared back at Loki, wondering how they were possibly going to get out of this situation. There was no way he could see himself getting both Lindsey and Evan to safety, and that was his first priority. Maybe if he distracted Loki himself and handed Evan over to Lindsey… But no, because apparently, Evan was exactly what Loki wanted.</p>
<p>     Taking a steadying breath, Sam wound his spare arm back in, using his hand to brace Evan’s head as he curled him protectively over his shoulder. There was no way he was going to give up his son. No way at all.</p>
<p>     “Get out,” Sam said. His voice was steadier than he was expecting, but wavering enough that it didn’t have the command that he had hoped. “Get out or I’ll stake you, Loki.”</p>
<p>     “You and what army?” the god raised his brow, amusement glowing like embers in his eyes. “You and I both know that won’t work, Sammy.”</p>
<p>     “Don’t call me that,” Sam muttered, unable to help the response even now. “Only Dean gets to call me that.”</p>
<p>     Loki looked around with faked interest.</p>
<p>     “And where is Dean, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, daring Sam to answer back. Sam bit his lip, holding his angered words in. “Did Big Brother finally give up on you?”</p>
<p>     “None of your business,” Sam snapped, regretting his words instantly. They only served to rile Loki up further, while also revealing the fact that yes, Dean<em> had</em> given up on him.</p>
<p>     A short pause fell between them, Sam not daring to speak and Loki not willing to start a conversation. He was still watching Sam with an expression of extreme disgust, though his eyes softened when they landed on Lindsey, then further when they brushed over Evan. It was almost as if Loki cared, though Sam knew Loki probably only wanted to destroy his son. Clearly, that was all Loki had really wanted to do to Sam from the get-go. Why the god <em>hadn’t</em> was a question Sam had often found himself pondering. It would certainly have been better for the world if Loki <em>had</em>.</p>
<p>     The god turned his attentions to Lindsey, trembling behind Sam. The frequent brushes of her chest over his back told Sam that she was near hyperventilating. He wasn’t surprised, considering what had happened earlier that night. If Sam had been in her situation, nearly killed for some random guy he worked with, then introduced to the supernatural and a monster all in one night, only to be found by a literal <em>god</em>… Yeah, he’d be in the same boat she was. He didn’t blame her for freaking out.</p>
<p>     “What about <em>you</em>?” Loki asked, tone more curious than hateful. “Where do you fit into all this?”</p>
<p>     “Leave her alone,” Sam warned, shifting to give Lindsey more cover. The soft brush of her ragged bangs against his upper arm alerted him to the fact she was leaning around him, peering out at Loki. “She has nothing to do with this.”</p>
<p>     “I beg to differ,” Loki’s voice was slow, drawling. He knew he had all the power in the room. “She’s in your motel room. New girlfriend? Better than that<em> demon</em> you were screwing around with.”</p>
<p>     “Really?” Lindsey’s voice was trembling, but there was a hardness in it. Something had annoyed her, had put a little bit of steel into her spine. “<em>Really</em>?” she said again, capturing the god’s attention. His brows were raised, and he shared a quick look with Sam. Sam gave a small shrug to his shoulders. He certainly hadn’t suggested it was a good idea for her to mouth off to a Pagan God. In fact, Sam thought it would be a pretty good idea if she stopped. A marvellous idea, even. “You don’t like Sam. I get that. Whatever. I’m not sure if<em> I</em> like him, either. But you’re really going to go for that angle?”</p>
<p>     Confusion flitted over Loki’s expression. Sam barely resisted the urge to stop her. She was on a roll, voice gaining strength and speed as she spoke. If he broke her off now, he’d probably be getting a verbal attack from her. Then, he’d be surrounded on both sides. Best not to risk it.</p>
<p>     Honestly, Sam wasn’t sure what was going on anymore. In his arms, Evan was still crying, but it was softer, for Sam’s ears alone. Wriggly limbs squirmed in their blanket, and Sam clutched the baby closer, careful not to squeeze him too tightly.</p>
<p>     When nobody said anything, Lindsey sighed. Turning so he could look at her out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw her giving them both an exasperated look, gesturing with frustrated hands to Sam himself.</p>
<p>     “Sam just lost his <em>girlfriend</em>,” Lindsey stressed, agitated brown eyes flickering between them. “From the sounds of things, he helped kill her,” she glanced at Sam at that, biting her lip in apology. Sam gave a small nod; he <em>had</em> helped kill her, and he <em>wasn’t</em> sorry. He was only sorry he’d listened to her in the first place. He was only sorry he’d doomed the world because he had. “So you’re really going to go there? Dude, but some things are off limits. In fact—”</p>
<p>     “Lindsey,” Sam cut in, his voice soft, firm. “That’s enough.”</p>
<p>     “Sam—”</p>
<p>     “Lindsey,” warning cut like a blade’s edge in his tone, halting her rant. He nodded to Loki, who was standing before them. Fury was dancing in his eyes, whiskey gaze flickering over both of them. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, dusty marks still splayed over the walls around him from where he had dissipated the runes. Somehow, he seemed closer than ever before. It was almost as if he could reach out and pluck Evan from Sam’s paralysed arms. Thinking about it, Sam was sure he could do that. Hoping to still get out of the situation alive, Sam told Lindsey, “Stop talking.”</p>
<p>     Her mouth shut with a click, worry seeping onto her features again. Fear that she had pushed things too far blanched her face, made her press herself back against the wall. From the way her feet were shifting, scuffing quietly against the carpet, it was only sheer will that kept her from hiding behind Sam outright, face pressed into his back. Sam was glad she didn’t; he needed her to be at least somewhat calm for the getaway that they really should have been making right then.</p>
<p>     Thoughts shifting away from Lindsey’s outburst – the overwhelming emotions of the day had probably caused it; they needed to get out of the room before she exploded again – Sam thought of a way to get past Loki.</p>
<p>     It was difficult to get past a god, and like Loki had said, the stakes didn’t work. It the first time they’d staked him didn’t give him a clue (though how did they know they’d really staked him? His illusions were <em>good</em>), the second time they’d met him really did. Besides, even if the stakes did work, Sam hadn’t been expecting the Trickster to burst into his motel room, didn’t have a stake prepared for just that circumstance. No, they’d need to try something else.</p>
<p>     “I wouldn’t even think about it, if I were you,” Loki warned, surprising Sam. “The only way you’re getting out of this is if you give me what I want.”</p>
<p>     “What do you want?” Sam asked hurriedly, trying to keep the god occupied, distracted. For all that he’d thought about the Trickster before, all those months he’d spent hunting him after Dean’s death that Wednesday, he’d never realised that the god could read minds. “You said something about…” he nodded to his son with his head, not willing to give Loki his son’s name, even if it could just be plucked from his thoughts like an apple from a tree. “But you didn’t explain why.”  </p>
<p>     “Why do you think?” Loki sent a withering look Sam’s way. Lindsey clenched her fingers into the Sam’s flannel once again, though it seemed more in anger than in fear this time.</p>
<p>     “To kill him.” Lindsey determined, speaking before Sam could. Wanting to close his eyes in irritation, Sam strained to keep them open. It wouldn’t do to take his eyes off their adversary. “That’s what everyone is trying to do.”</p>
<p>     “<em>No</em>,” practically growling, Loki took a furious step forward. Where he had been standing before was a blackened footprint, small wisps of smoke curling up into the air, demons rising from Hell. As one, he and Lindsey pushed themselves further back into the wall. “I want to <em>raise</em> him.”</p>
<p>     “Why?” Sam asked, angling himself so Evan was further back, turned just out of Loki’s sightline.</p>
<p>     “Because of his power,” Loki explained. His voice was still hard, unforgiving. He took another step forward, leaving another burnt-black footprint. The doorway was left empty, gaping open like a hungry maw. It was like they were in the mouth of a beast, about to be swallowed, digested. They could see their escape before them, but knew they could never reach it. Sam swallowed, the motion sticking in his throat, clicking loudly in the room. “I can train him properly.”</p>
<p>     “I won’t let you,” Sam spat, shaking his head. Evan was wailing again, loudly. “He’s mine. I won’t let you.”</p>
<p>     A faint flickering motion in the doorway caught Sam’s attention. His eyes flickered away from Loki for a second, studying the darkness. Headlights on the road far away were the only movement he could see, shadows dancing in the fleeting white. When he shifted his gaze back to Loki, he pressed backwards in shock. Lindsey huffed violently, pressed between Sam and the wall, no space between them. Loki had moved.</p>
<p>     Instead of being a few steps into the doorway, he was right up in their faces, amber eyes trapping them. They were insects, stuck fast in sap. Sam licked his lips, wetting the dried-out skin. His mouth was sticky from the power-burnt air, his breath coming in short pants.</p>
<p>     Short arms reached up, ready to pluck Sam’s writhing son from his arms. A second set of arms snaked out from behind Sam, soft hands holding onto Evan just as tightly as Sam was. Whether or not Lindsey liked Sam, she wasn’t going to let his son, an innocent baby, get taken away to be a plaything for a god, a tool for him to use in his sick games against assholes.</p>
<p>     Gritted teeth bared themselves to Sam, fire burning in Loki’s features. He wasn’t happy with Sam, not at all. Reaching hands made contact with Sam’s skin, lips curling in disgust as they did so. Fingers curled over the back of Sam’s hands, trying to pry him away from Evan, trying to drag his son out of his arms. Supported over Sam’s shoulder, Evan began screaming, fat salty drops pooling on Sam’s shirt, soaking it through and sticking it to his skin. Heart beating wildly in his chest, Sam held on tight. He wouldn’t let go. He <em>wouldn’t</em>.</p>
<p>     Suddenly, Loki stopped moving.</p>
<p>     Enraged eyes darted between clawing hands and hazel eyes, flickering back and forth in confused agitation.</p>
<p>     “What have you done?” Loki asked after a few seconds, confusion and panic both in his voice. “Release me.”</p>
<p>     “I haven’t done anything,” Sam was bewildered, but with Loki frozen the way he was he edged away, shifting Evan out of Loki’s crooked grip. Ignoring Lindsey’s agreement of innocence behind him, he pushed forward just enough to let Lindsey slip away from the wall and out into the centre of the room. She turned there, watching as he followed behind her. Loki continued to face the wall, unable to move anything but his eyes, his lips. “I don’t know what’s happening.”</p>
<p>     “I do,” a voice hmphed from the doorway. A short figure filled it, shoulders held high and hand clutching an item, something that looked familiar… It was a hex bag! “Sam, girl, get out and to the car.”</p>
<p>     The silhouette moved forwards, revealing a well-known face. Disapproval was pulling the corner of her lips down, flaring her nostrils. As she came level with the bed, Missouri placed the hex-bag down upon it. Sam watched as it tilted and rolled a little over the crumpled covers. Missouri didn’t watch, too focused on Loki, displeasure emanating from her expression so strongly that Sam was sure Loki could feel it boring a hole through his back.</p>
<p>     “You’re staying right there,” she informed the god, a snort escaping her as she shook her head. “A being that claims to like children such as yourself,” she muttered, folding her arms. “You should be ashamed.”</p>
<p>     “Missouri—”</p>
<p>     “Didn’t I tell you to get in the car, boy?” She whipped around to face him, a finger raised in warning. “I’d do as I were told, if I were you.”</p>
<p>     “Missouri,” Sam tried again. He fell silent when her expression didn’t falter, instead turning and gathering up all his belongings. Lindsey helped, hurrying into the bathroom to collect toiletries. She emerged within seconds, Sam’s stained green bag in her hands. It rattled as she scurried to the door, fleeing out into the breezy night.</p>
<p>     Following behind her, Sam felt the wind whip his hair around his head. In his arms, Evan was quieter. No longer holding the baby over his shoulder, but instead carrying him as normal, Sam swung the baby bag up with his free arm, the manoeuvre made difficult by his duffle clutched in his spare hand.</p>
<p>     Lindsey was already at the car, the dented sides of it gleaming in the moonlight. The headlights shifting over the parking lot from the road lit it up enough to reveal the ugly shade of it, paint rusted around the handle Lindsey was grasping.</p>
<p>     With some difficulty, duffle preventing him from reaching into his pocket properly, forcing him to contort his fingers awkwardly, Sam pulled the keys out and chucked them to her. She caught them with fumbling hands, taking a few seconds to put them into the lock. The clunk of the car doors opening filled Sam with relief. Speeding his actions up, he headed for the back seat, dropping his belongings at his feet as he opened the door and leaned in.</p>
<p>     It didn’t take long to get Evan settled. Red-faced from crying for so long, Evan blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. He was no longer crying, but raw-voiced hiccoughs were wrenched out of his little body. Worry for his safety and comfort gripped Sam, but he didn’t have time to fret then, so he shoved those fears down. First, they’d worry about getting Evan away from Loki completely, <em>then</em> they’d worry about what damage the night had done to the boy. They <em>couldn’t</em> do it any other way.</p>
<p>     Throwing a quick glance of his shoulder as he wedged the duffle and the baby-bag into the footwell at the back of the car, Sam saw Missouri still in the room with Loki. From what he could tell, she was talking with him, arms folding across her chest, her – he squinted, taking the time to really register her form this time – her dressing gown wrapped around her.</p>
<p>     Just to the edge of what Sam could see through the doorframe, was Loki’s still form. Stuck facing the wall, his muscles were trembling with tension. The prickling of hair on his arms and legs told Sam that his power was building; Missouri’s hex bag wouldn’t keep him trapped for long. She had to get out of there. Now.</p>
<p>     Just about to rush in and drag her out, Sam felt the tension within him burst like a bubble as she turned and hurried from the room. No longer facing the deity, it was clear that she was shaken. Her skin was duskier than usual, blood having seeped from her cheeks as she spoke with Loki. She’d held herself up with pride and bravado, but now she was slipping.</p>
<p>     A stumbling noise from behind him drew Sam’s attention away.</p>
<p>     Lindsey was moving back from the car, her feet scraping over the ground. The way she was glancing over her shoulder and then back to the car told Sam everything he needed to know. she wanted to run from them.</p>
<p>     Running would do her no good. Loki had seen her now, had been angered by her, and he would be after her too. Sam didn’t know what criteria made for ‘asshole’ in the god’s head, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Lindsey was on that list now. His just desserts often ended with death, and he couldn’t let that happen to Lindsey. She was already in danger from hunters because of him. Now, she was in danger from gods.</p>
<p>     “Get in the car,” he told her, stopping her in her stumbling tracks.</p>
<p>     “What?” she asked, voice thin with strain. “No,” she shook her head, turning to eye the piece of road she could see from where she stood. “No, I have to get back home. It’s not safe with you guys. It’s just… Not.”</p>
<p>     She shrugged, unable to come up with a better explanation. Sam didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to go with him, either. Who would want to go with someone who angered the gods? Not to mention, she’d soon find out that he’d started the Apocalypse and hate him <em>more</em>.</p>
<p>     All he could do for her now was one good thing. He could keep her safe from Loki. The power building in the air, crackling against his skin, told him that the god was almost free.</p>
<p>     “Get in the car,” he said again, command entering his voice. He might not have been able to use it against Loki, but with Lindsey it worked. He wasn’t scared of her. “Or you’ll die.”</p>
<p>     “Who’ll kill me?” she asked, jutting her chin out. She was still a few feet back from the car, body straining to run as far and as fast as it could away from them. “You?”</p>
<p>     “No,” Sam shook his head, feeling Missouri come up beside him. She waited next to him at the car, not yet ready to head around to the other side, the side Lindsey was on. Moving around would scare Lindsey, cause her to run. “I wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey let out a snort at that, eyebrows raising and falling quickly in disbelief.</p>
<p>     “Lindsey, dear,” Missouri said. Sam saw the fear on Lindsey’s face; she’d never told Missouri her name, so how could she possibly know it? Now wasn’t the time to explain, but they would. Of course they would. If she would just <em>get in the car</em>. “We have to go. Now.” Missouri’s voice was calming, soothing. Lindsey relaxed somewhat as Missouri talked, Sam watching on jittery tenterhooks as her shoulders fell into a softer line. “Loki is going to break free soon, and we need to be out of here by the time that happens.”</p>
<p>     “<em>You </em>do,” Lindsey shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “He doesn’t care about me. I’m nobody.”</p>
<p>     “I’m sorry, Sweetie,” Missouri shook her head, sympathy softening her features. “But he’s angry at you, too. I can sense it.”</p>
<p>     “Sense?” Lindsey asked, studying Missouri with narrowed eyes. Her hand rose from her folded arms, hitting against her forehead and then dropping back down. She turned to Sam with thinned lips and flared nostrils. “Of course, more supernatural.”</p>
<p>     “Sorry,” Sam shrugged, not sure what Lindsey wanted him to do about it. “But seriously, Lindsey, he is angry at you.”</p>
<p>     At Lindsey’s blank expression, Sam continued. “Your… scolding,” he explained, for lack of a better word. “He punishes assholes. I don’t know what counts as an asshole in his mind, but…”</p>
<p>     He shrugged again, arms raising out in apology.</p>
<p>     “I’d count,” Lindsey’s voice was bitter, her nod slow and understanding. “He’d come after me.”</p>
<p>     Missouri and Sam nodded, Sam continuing his nod even after Missouri stopped.</p>
<p>     “He’d come for me even if I were with you,” Lindsey pointed out, eyes flickering between Sam, Missouri, and the doorway through which Loki could just be made out. Checking behind him, Sam saw Loki’s muscles were no longer trembling, instead shaking violently with the strain of his magic. On the bed, faint wisps of smoke rose from the hex bag, smouldering with the strain of a god’s powers against its own. Loki was about to burst free. “What difference would it make?”</p>
<p>     “It’s my job,” Sam’s voice was panicky, his heart beating double-time in his chest. “I hunt the supernatural. I could protect you.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, yeah,” Lindsey sent a dry look his way. “Good job.”</p>
<p>     Briefly, Dean flickered through Sam’s mind, but he shoved the thoughts of his brother back. Lindsey’s sarcasm was only reminding him of Dean because it had been a few weeks since he’d seen him last. It didn’t matter, anyway. There were more pressing things to deal with right then than how much he missed his big brother.</p>
<p>     “Lindsey,” Missouri’s voice was firm, unwavering. “You have to get in the car, now. My hex bag won’t hold out forever.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey stayed where she was, torn.</p>
<p>     “<em>Now</em>, Lindsey,” Sam stressed, a growl curling his voice into a dangerous thing. “Otherwise we’re all going to die.”</p>
<p>     At that, Lindsey closed her eyes but gave a determined nod. Stepping back towards the car, she didn’t flinch as Missouri rounded the side of it, climbing into the front passenger side. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Sam felt a pang. That was his rightful space Missouri was sitting in, and he’d taken Dean’s.</p>
<p>     Shaking his thoughts off – he’d been driving like this for days now, weeks – he started the engine as the back door slammed. The click of Lindsey’s seatbelt cut through the rumble given off as Sam put the car into gear, pulling out of the parking lot as quickly as he could. Magic was building in the air, making him fidget in his seat, but he worked through it, guiding the piece of junk he was driving towards the road and then down it, headlights illuminating their way.</p>
<p>     Guilt churning his insides, the burn of Lindsey’s glare cutting through him from behind, Sam winced and gasped as the magic built and burst, crashing down over him like a wave, like a tsunami. Next to him, Missouri shifted in her seat, hand coming up to clutch at her chest. Just like Sam’s, her heart must have jolted in her chest, trying to work double-time through the crackling, fizzing, violently turbulent power coursing through the air, rolling around them, through them.</p>
<p>     In the back seat, Evan started crying again. Lindsey, the only person not affected, reached her hand out to stroke at Evan’s head, trying to soothe him while Sam was occupied. Whatever hatred she had for him – and it must have been a lot – she wasn’t taking it out on Evan. Sam was glad.</p>
<p>     Thankful for the protective wards he’d drawn in Sharpie on the inside of the car, ranging from the sigils Castiel had burnt into his ribs (he’d looked them up, afterwards) to anti-demon and anti-god symbols, Sam sped them into the flow of traffic, then tried to drive like they were normal, ordinary, like they weren’t being pursued. He didn’t know how Loki had found them, but trying to blend in would still be a good idea. There was no need to draw attention to themselves, especially if Loki couldn’t find them because of the runes.</p>
<p>     Settling into his seat, feeling his body calm down now no longer subjected to the overwhelming current of magic that had crashed over it, had pulled it down into the undertow and thrown it around, Sam took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. Nothing about this night had gone right, nothing at all. Next to him, Missouri rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly, but it wasn’t enough. It was only ever enough when it was his brother, and like Loki had said, Dean wasn’t there, would likely never be there again.</p>
<p>     Wishing he could close his eyes and just let everything drift away, Sam tightened his fingers on the wheel instead, feeling as the blood squeezed out of them, leaving them aching, numb and white. Nothing would ever be okay again, not for him, not for Dean, not for anyone else he’d dragged into his mess. But, by God, was he going to try and make it okay, starting with saving Lindsey somehow. After that, well… He guessed he’d just have to take it from there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam, Missouri and Lindsey are on the run from Loki, and they need to find some way of protecting Evan. Worse, they've been spotted by other enemies, too.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Seven</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Half an hour later, Sam was finally beginning to relax. For whatever reason, Loki hadn’t located them immediately, hadn’t landed before them in the middle of the road, waiting for them to drive right into him, crumple the car around him. For whatever reason, they appeared to be safe enough.</p>
<p>     Nobody was saying anything, the atmosphere within the vehicle tense, an elastic band stretched to breaking. Sam feared that opening his mouth would snap it, would cause one of them to finally erupt. Most likely, Lindsey would be the one to go. They’d all but kidnapped her, after all. She couldn’t possibly be in a good mood, a good place, right about then. Speaking was just asking for trouble, especially after seeing the way she’d lashed out at Loki earlier that evening.</p>
<p>     They drove a few more miles in silence, leaving town but sticking to busy roads. There was always the possibility that Loki wasn’t stopping them due to the innocents around them – Sam knew that he was far from an innocent, and that Lindsey and Missouri were likely on Loki’s hit-list now, too – so sticking around people was always wise. For all of Loki’s worse behaviours, there was something that could be said about him; he didn’t like hurting those who had done nothing wrong. Sam had worked that out very quickly, back on the first hunt he and Dean had taken against the god.</p>
<p>     Another hour of driving passed.</p>
<p>     A second.</p>
<p>     A third.</p>
<p>     Eventually, Sam flicked the blinker on, signalling that he was pulling off down a winding track.</p>
<p>     The road was crumbling, making the car rock and groan on its chassis. Everybody shook in their seats, Missouri’s hands flying out to grip the dashboard, Lindsey letting out a surprised gasp when Sam took the bend too quickly. He was taking a leaf out of Dean’s book, speeding around corners and not telling anyone about his driving plans. Sam had come to expect it on the road with his car-loving brother, but Lindsey and Missouri were not impressed. Not if the glares they both sent Sam’s way were anything to judge by.</p>
<p>     “We’ll have to be quick about this,” Sam told them, speaking softly. He was tensed, almost certain that Lindsey was going to lash out. The grinding sound of clenched teeth told him that she was liable to, if pushed any further. “We need to ward the house, as fast as we can.”</p>
<p>     “The house?” Lindsey asked. When Sam glanced at her in the rear view mirror, she had an eyebrow highly arched. A look out the window told him why. “That’s a shed, at best.”</p>
<p>     “Sorry,” Sam shrugged helplessly. It was the safest place he could think of to go. “I stayed here before, after… After Ruby. It’s already warded. We’ll just have to touch them up, just to be sure.”</p>
<p>     “You stayed here?” The disgust in Lindsey’s voice wasn’t disguised. In the darkness, the cabin looked shabbier than it really was. When Sam had stayed here before, jumpy and blood-addled, he’d been aware enough to know that all the walls were intact, that the only real damage was a single cracked window. He’d salted it and boarded it for the night he and Evan had to stay. It would suit them for one night more. “With a<em> baby</em>?”</p>
<p>     “I didn’t have much choice,” Sam pointed out, though he too knew it wasn’t good. “If I had any other choice…”</p>
<p>     “That doesn’t matter now,” cut in Missouri’s firm voice. Sam couldn’t read her thoughts on the matter from it, so he decided to put it out of his mind. As a psychic, she could read thoughts and emotions, at least on the surface layer, and Sam would prefer it if she didn’t see how awful a father he was being. “It’s a safe place to sleep, Girl. Unless you’d like to take your chances camping in the woods?”</p>
<p>     Lindsey sent a withering look Missouri’s way, before reaching out and snapping the car door open. From the way she climbed out, the way she held herself, Sam was certain she needed to stretch, but for whatever reason, she wasn’t doing it. It was probably pride, he thought, and he didn’t blame her. If he’d been kidnapped – and he had been, a lot – he wouldn’t want to give his kidnappers the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.</p>
<p>     Sighing heavily, Sam leaned forwards and put his face into his hands. Hovering just above the steering wheel, making lean against the horn, Sam held his breath. A warm hand landed on his back, seeping solidarity into his tightened muscles. It rubbed back and forth for a few moments, offering what comfort it could, before withdrawing. Missouri was the second out of the car, leaving Sam and Evan alone within.</p>
<p>     Taking one last deep breath, Sam exited the car and stretched his muscles. Missouri was already at the trunk, rifling through the meagre supplies Sam had. Salt was held out to him, a bottle Sam took in one hand. In his other, he took the flashlight she offered next. Giving a nod, lips pressed tight, Sam headed towards the cabin. Elbow pulled in, enough that it could brush against the heavy shape of the knife in his jacket, weighing him down, Sam reassured himself that he was armed.</p>
<p>     Carefully, he pulled himself up against the door frame. Risking a glance back, he saw that Missouri had opened the back passenger door and was checking on Evan. Lindsey stood near the trunk, her arms wrapped around herself in a lonely embrace. Regret swept through Sam once again. How many lives was he going to ruin? How many people were going to be pulled down with him as he went? Maybe Dean had the right idea. He was never going to be able to stop the Apocalypse, not Sam Winchester. But Dean? Dean had a chance.</p>
<p>     The desire to phone his brother, to just hear his voice, raced through Sam, but he shoved it down. It wasn’t the time to think about that. Instead, Sam drew himself back to the there and then. Tucking his salt cannister under his chin, Sam curled sore fingers around the bitingly cold iron of the door handle. Slowly, so slowly it was almost unnoticeable, Sam turned the knob. The door swung open with a whine. He winced.</p>
<p>     Flashlight raised to his shoulder, pointing into the room, Sam scanned with practised eyes. No movement. Nothing had changed. The dusty table still sat in the centre, bench seats with threadbare runners on them flanking it. It looked out of the darkness menacingly, but shrunk down when Sam shone the light over it, under it. Nothing was under the table, and there was nowhere else to hide. The cabin was safe. Motioning over his shoulder for the others, he shuffled through the door. There was a faint scraping sound under his foot as he did, the previous grains of salt from his earlier wards breaking under his feet, their patient protection of the cabin over.</p>
<p>     The slamming of doors and trunks echoed through the still air, informing Sam that the other two had grabbed everything they’d need. That was confirmed when Missouri came through the door holding Evan in his car-seat, the baby bag slung over one shoulder. Behind her skulked Lindsey, a scowl on her face but a duffel in her hand. She set it down on the floor gingerly, the muffled clatter on the floorboards telling Sam she’d brought the bag with the few weapons he’d managed to collect since he and Dean had split, not the one with his clothing in it. He supposed it was fair, considering she and Missouri didn’t have anything to change into, either.</p>
<p>     With both women in the room, Sam closed the door as gently as possible. It still creaked as it swung on rusted hinges, still gave a gentle thump as it fit back into it’s frame. Room closed, Sam handed the flashlight over to Lindsey who took it with grudging fingers, then turned to fix the broken salt-line. The hiss of salt was the only sound in the cabin, both women silent and Evan sleeping soundly. It remained that way as Sam moved from the doorway to the windowsills, touching up the draft-blown salt lines there.</p>
<p>     “Nice place, this,” Lindsey said, nose wrinkled as she moved over to the bench seats. Brown eyes flicked over the dust – disturbed somewhat from when Sam was there last – before she stretched her sleeve down over her wrist, using the stretched material to clean off a spot to sit. The dust didn’t so much brush off as smear into the wood. “Very child friendly.”</p>
<p>     “You hush yourself, Girl,” Missouri snapped. Heavy hands wobbled the table, determining how sturdy it was. Satisfied, she gave a nod and placed Evan’s car seat on it. Within, Evan barely stirred. Sam wasn’t surprised; all the crying he’d done earlier would have worn him out something terrible. “Be grateful for a place to sleep that isn’t the back of that wreck Sam calls a car.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey snorted, hard enough that Sam suspected she was rolling her eyes, but he didn’t look to see. He was too busy kneeling down in the fireplace, using some of the dust blanketed kindling to help him build a fire. It was slow going, but there was enough fuel left in the room for the fire to last a few hours, long enough that it would cool to a smoulder while they slept. It would heat the room for them, give Sam a chance to warm Evan’s milk bottle and feed him, and provide some much-needed light.</p>
<p>     Before too long, Sam had a steady blaze going in the room. Orange light flickered over the walls, throwing ever-changing shadows around the room. Bits and bobs still littered the place, like a copper kettle that was now home to an industrious spider, the webbing within truly a sight to behold. A cupboard door was swinging open, making Lindsey jumpy and revealing moth-eaten blankets. They’d do for that night. Sam pulled out as many as he could, handing them around in silence. Missouri accepted hers graciously, but Lindsey wouldn’t take hers, gaze fixed stonily ahead, eyes shadowed. Sam placed them on the table instead.</p>
<p>     That done, Sam got to work clearing floor space in front of the fire. Once a patch big enough for them all to sleep in was available, he placed some water in front of the fire to warm it. He’d check it regularly, to make sure it didn’t get too hot, but he knew Evan would be wanting feeding soon. Hopefully, the water would heat enough that he could mix the powder in quickly. Tired as he was, Evan hadn’t eaten for a few hours, and he’d be getting very hungry. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if he’d start crying again very soon.</p>
<p>     Silence hung between them in the cabin, thick and muffling like the cobwebs in the kettle. Nobody broke it for a good long time.</p>
<p>     Eventually, Missouri spoke up. “Loki wants the boy, Sam.”</p>
<p>     “I know,” he snapped. He bit his lip, sent Missouri an apologetic look. Softening his tone, he said, “I know.” He offered a helpless shrug. “What can we do? I can’t give Evan to him, but… How am I meant to keep a<em> god</em> away from him?”</p>
<p>     “Should have thought about that before angering a god,” Lindsey observed quietly, deliberately bating. From the look Missouri sent her way, Sam could see it was working. “Or having a kid with a <em>demon</em>.”</p>
<p>    “Dean said that,” Sam said quietly. Dean had probably been right as well, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to think it, couldn’t <em>let</em> himself think it. Evan was innocent and hadn’t asked for any of this. Sam was going to keep him safe. Well… As safe as he could, anyway. “If Dean were here, he’d know what to do. He always knows what to do.”</p>
<p>     “Well, Dean isn’t here,” Something about the way Missouri said it suggested she thought it were a good thing, though Sam wasn’t sure why. “And even if he was, your brother isn’t always right, Sam.” Missouri let that hang in the air for a few moments, before adding, “Besides, I think I might have an idea.”</p>
<p>     Sam looked at her then. He didn’t dare to hope, not yet, but if she <em>did</em>… God, but that would be a miracle. Or maybe not a miracle – the angels didn’t seem to be all that – but it would be amazing.</p>
<p>     “What?” he asked, keeping his voice flat, without emotion, without hope.</p>
<p>     “There’s a spell,” Missouri began hesitantly, treating him as if he were a startled horse, ready to buck and bolt. “It would bind you and Evan together. In your souls.”</p>
<p>     “A spell?” Lindsey didn’t sound convinced. Missouri and Sam both gave her an incredulous look. Had she not been present the whole night? Surely, once you’d seen a god, a spell wasn’t so hard to believe. “What?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “Okay, so gods exist. You say psychics exist. Whatever. Now spells do, too?”</p>
<p>     “Every nightmare you’ve ever had exists, Girl,” Missouri snapped, her patience wearing thin. On the one hand, Sam didn’t blame her. On the other, Lindsey was new to all this, had been kidnapped, and was having an incredibly trying time. They should probably cut her some slack. “And more besides. So, yes, spells exist.”</p>
<p>     “And this one joins souls?” Lindsey raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Placing her elbows on the table, she leaned forward enough to clutch the hair at her temples, pulling at it in a way that looked painful to Sam. Under her breath, she muttered, “Yeah, ‘cause there’s never gonna be a downside to that.”</p>
<p>     Sam hated to admit it, but she was right.</p>
<p>     “There is a downside,” Missouri agreed, coming forward to sit on the bench opposite Lindsey. As she sat, the runner crumpled to the floor with a soft thud. “There are lots of downsides. But it might save Sam and Evan’s life, if what Loki told me is any indication.”</p>
<p>     “What Loki told you?” Sam asked, remembering the brief few minutes that Missouri had stayed behind with the god.</p>
<p>     “What Loki told me,” Missouri confirmed with a nod. “He wants to protect Evan. He doesn’t want him dead. This spell, it could kill him…” Sam was already on his feet, shaking his head emphatically, “but only if it killed you.”</p>
<p>     There was a pause.</p>
<p>     “What?” Sam asked. He didn’t understand.</p>
<p>     “If we do this spell,” Missouri explained calmly, pressing her hands into the splintering surface before her. “You and Evan cannot be parted. It would cause agony to you both if you went more than a few meters away. But it would mean that Loki wouldn’t dare part you from each other, because he’d want to protect your son.”</p>
<p>     “Missouri, how could I do that to him?” Sam asked, drawing up to the table. He reached out, resting his palm on Evan’s tiny chest. “How could you even ask?”</p>
<p>     “He’s got a point,” Lindsey cut in, surprising Sam. He hadn’t expected her to take his side. “I mean… What if he dies? In his line of work, I’m not picturing a long lifespan.”</p>
<p>     “No,” Sam agreed, sending a humourless smile Lindsey’s way. “There isn’t one.”</p>
<p>     “I can change the spell enough to deal with that,” Missouri promised, folding her arms on the table. She leaned forward into them, glancing at Lindsey briefly, before sending an imploring stare Sam’s way. “I can give you some power over it, Sam. You can break the connection, if you’re about to die. I know you wouldn’t want to drag Evan to the afterlife with you, but I do know this: if you don’t go through with this spell, Loki will take Evan from you, and you’ll never see him again.”</p>
<p>     “God, you don’t pull your punches, do you?” Lindsey let out a breathy chuckle. It was out of shock, more than anything else, and she shut up again quickly. “But Loki won’t ever go for that.”</p>
<p>     “She’s right,” Sam agreed with Lindsey, removing his stroking fingers from Evan’s chest so he could fold his arms. “Loki would try to kill me if he ever found out that I could end the bond that way. And he would find out—”</p>
<p>     “Because he can read minds,” Lindsey cut in, leaning forward on her folded arms in a mirror of Missouri’s position. “Which makes that option… Crap.”</p>
<p>     “I can put a ward around that information in your mind,” Missouri offered, eyes still fixed on Sam’s face. Unable to meet her gaze any longer, he turned to look into the fire. “Make it so he can’t see that. It’s not something I would normally do, but in this situation…” she shrugged, hands raised in offering.</p>
<p>     Unsure what to do, mind swirling, Sam buried his face in his palms. He could feel Missouri’s imploring gaze on him, Lindsey’s interested stare. Neither were helping him make his decision, and it was a big decision to make. This could hurt <em>his son</em> – but it could also mean that Evan couldn’t be taken from him. That could only be a good thing, because Evan being raised by a creature like Loki, a monster they hunted who had very little regard for human life… It would corrupt the boy, drag him down the wrong path, and if there was one thing Sam wanted for Evan, just one thing, it was for someone to show him the right path, the <em>right </em>way to use his powers.</p>
<p>     Turbulent emotions swept through him, pulling him left and right. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what decision he could possibly make here that would make things okay, but… But when it came down to it, didn’t he have to do what was best for Evan? And what was best for Evan wasn’t Loki, not in the slightest.</p>
<p>     A decision reached, guilt cascading over him like a tidal wave, Sam croaked, “Okay.”</p>
<p>     “<em>Okay</em>?!” Lindsey asked, incredulous. “Okay?!”</p>
<p>     “Okay,” Sam confirmed, swaying where he stood. The fire burned his face, but shame warmed his cheeks hotter than the flames ever could. “What do we have to do, Missouri?”</p>
<p>     “We’re going to need ingredients for the spell,” Missouri’s voice was focused, down to business. “You’ll have to go and get them tomorrow. Bring them back here, and we’ll do the ritual as soon as possible.”</p>
<p>     “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Lindsey shook her head, but Sam ignored her. “This is going to end so badly.”</p>
<p>     “Thank you for your opinion,” Missouri’s voice was cutting, a frown pulling the corners of her lips down. “If you have a better plan than this, we’d love to hear it.”</p>
<p>     Missouri spread her hands wide, giving Lindsey the floor. Two pairs of eyes watched the blonde for a few moments, watched as her lips pursed and her cheeks heated red under the flickering light. After a few moments, Lindsey shook her head with a heavy sigh.</p>
<p>     “I’ve got nothing,” she admitted softly, looking down at where her fingers were picking at the table. A splinter stuck under her nail, drawing a hiss out of her. “And… I mean… If it will get Loki off our backs, I guess it’s our only option, huh?”</p>
<p>     Missouri gave a firm nod. Sam gave his own, much more hesitant one.</p>
<p>     Just as he was about to say something else, Evan hiccoughed and whimpered. As big a breath as his little lungs could draw in was heard, gearing up for him to start wailing. Wasting no time, Sam unhooked him from the car seat and gathered him up into his arms, hurrying over to the fire to check the temperature of the bottle against the inside of his wrist. Happy with it, he mixed the powder in, then held it to Evan’s lips before the boy could start crying, settling down cross-legged on the floor with his back towards the women.</p>
<p>     He could feel them watching him, could feel their eyes piercing his skin, digging deep into the soul beneath, judging him. They probably found him wanting; he certainly did. Nevertheless, in that moment he had a baby to take care of, someone who’s best interests he had in mind, always. Forcing himself to keep facing away from them, to keep facing the fire, Sam leaned down over Evan’s still-drinking form and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Whispering his love into Evan’s skin, he pulled back and tried to drink his fill of the little form he held in his arms, so innocent and sweet.</p>
<p>     He wished Evan could stay that way forever, but the world they were living in, the times they were living in… All of those things would try and drag Evan into the darkness. Sam had a plan to protect him from one temptation, but there were so many. What was he going to do? What was he doing now? Sam didn’t know, and that terrified him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning, Lindsey found herself sitting in the passenger seat of the hunk of junk that Sam called a car. Sunshine was beating down relentlessly through the windscreen, glare glinting off the single still-shiny patch of paint on the bonnet, stabbing Lindsey directly in the eyes. It was unseasonably warm, but considering how cold she’d been when she woke up that morning, it felt good. She, on the other hand, did not.</p>
<p>     Her teeth felt all fuzzy, and her mouth tasted like something had died in it. She was pretty sure her breath smelt exactly like that, and her conviction only increased when Sam had leaned away from her. Earlier that morning, she’d found him brushing his teeth outside, using bottled water and a near empty, rolled-up tube of toothpaste. When he’d spat the froth onto the ground, she’d wrinkled her nose in distaste, but now that she was suffering from roadkill-mouth, she figured he’d actually had the right idea.</p>
<p>     Sweat was making her feel dirty and smell like, she was convinced, a skunk.</p>
<p>     The hack-job that she’d done on her hair a few nights ago was still offending her personally, and she was pretty sure it would make her stand out, too. She’d have to get that fixed as soon as possible; a good trim was in order, along with a dye job. She could do that herself, so long as they found a motel with a halfway decent shower, but she was going to have to get Missouri to cut it.</p>
<p>     Speaking of Missouri…</p>
<p>     Lindsey still wasn’t sure how she felt about the woman. All she knew was that she was glad the older woman had opted to stay behind and look after Evan in the cabin. Sam had been hesitant to leave his son with her at first, but when Missouri had shoved them both out the door with a rumpled list of ingredients and had informed them in a stern tone that she had her own son, he’d climbed into the car obediently. Not wanting to anger the already unimpressed woman, Lindsey had clambered in next to him.</p>
<p>     They’d driven in sullen silence at first, Lindsey folding her arms and scowling, letting Sam know how she felt about the soul-spell thing.</p>
<p>     Driving in silence had given her time to think about it, though, time that she hadn’t had last night. Looking the stiff floorboards of the cabin, Lindsey had been convinced that she’d never get to sleep, but within a few minutes of lying down, she’d been snoring. Loudly, if Missouri’s amused harrumph at her earlier had been any indication. She had been intending to spend the night thinking on the issue, but since that plan had been swept out the window and quickly, too, she was grateful for the opportunity to consider it in the car.</p>
<p>     At first, she had been totally against it, but as they drove she became more appreciative of the idea. Loki – if he really <em>was </em>a god, and Lindsey was still doubting that. Maybe she had just been kidnapped by crazy people, and was seeing things <em>herself</em> – didn’t know that Sam would do anything for his son. To him, their fight over Evan was just a ‘who wants him the most’ tussle at the moment, and with this spell, Sam would hold all the cards.</p>
<p>     From what she understood, Sam and Evan would be connected in their very souls, would be inseparable. Literally.</p>
<p>     Parting the two of them would bring them both great agony, something she knew Loki didn’t want to inflict on Evan any more than Sam did, not if his desire to raise the kid was any indication.</p>
<p>     Apparently, the spell usually dictated that when one party died, the other would follow them into death. With the changes Missouri was making to the spell – and Lindsey didn’t know people could <em>do</em> that. Weren’t spells unchangeable, fixed? There was so much she had to <em>learn</em> – Sam would be able to release Evan from it before he died, meaning Evan would carry on without Sam. He should also be able to release the spell if Evan were to die, but from the way Sam was acting, had been acting ever since she’d met him, she wasn’t sure he’d do that. In fact, she was almost entirely certain that he <em>wouldn’t.</em></p>
<p>     Because of all these changes, the spell was as safe as it possibly could be for little Evan, and Lindsey was glad about that. What’s more, it offered the three of them some safety, as well. Loki didn’t know that Sam would do anything to protect Evan. To him, all that would be obvious was that Sam had all the good cards in the hand, and Loki had none. Evan would be theirs to look after, Loki would be off their backs, and she could <em>finally </em>go home.</p>
<p>     Not that home was much, just a mouldy old motel room, but still. It was the principal of it.</p>
<p>     Lindsey knew that Sam thought of himself as a kidnapper. Under other circumstances, she’d probably consider him the same. But for now, she just saw him trying to help. He was doing the best he could in a difficult situation to keep three people alive with a god hunting them down. It wasn’t even his fault, not all of it. So he might have had a son with a demon. That probably wasn’t a good choice, though from what she understood, Sam hadn’t known about it until after Evan was born into the world.</p>
<p>     When it came to Lindsey being in these circumstances, <em>she</em> had tried to get closer to Sam. He’d done everything in his power to warn her away, but his reticent nature and mystery had only drawn her closer. It was her own fault.</p>
<p>     As for Missouri, she could have sat by and done nothing when Loki was attacking them, but she didn’t. She’d brought something into the room that had frozen the god in place, if only for a few moments, but that was enough. From what Lindsey understood of the malicious being that had confronted them, he would now consider Missouri a target, simply because of what she had done.</p>
<p>     “We’re almost there,” Sam’s voice broke her concentration, making her jump just a little. The unusual heat had lulled her into a near-sleep state. Next to her, Sam was watching the road and looking at his phone at the same time, appearing to be reading a website on it. That hadn’t been up when he’d last checked his phone, which meant she’d missed him researching and driving at the same time. Faint nerves tingled through her system, but Sam was already putting the phone away. Too late to worry about potential traffic accidents now. “Small witch shop up the next street. They should have everything we need.”</p>
<p>     “You shouldn’t type and drive,” she muttered, turning to look at him. She had to squint against the sun, shining as it was behind him. Pausing for a moment, she considered, then asked, “I didn’t know witch shops were the real deal?”</p>
<p>     “There’s a lot you don’t know,” Sam huffed. Ordinarily, Lindsey would have been offended by people laughing at her expense, but this time she had to join in with a soft chuckle. Sam wasn’t wrong. “But actually, most don’t. There are special symbols in the windows of ones that cater to hunters. I’ll show you it, when we go in.”</p>
<p>     “Mm,” Lindsey agreed, leaning back into her seat. A few moments passed, before she said, “Nice day.”</p>
<p>     “It is sunny,” Sam agreed, studiously watching the cars. Rolling her eyes, Lindsey marvelled at the way Sam would practice dangerous driving habits when comfortable, but when it came to admitting that something was on his mind – and Lindsey could tell that something <em>was</em> on his mind – he suddenly became the world’s most careful driver. “Don’t know about it being a nice day.”</p>
<p>     “Killjoy,” she declared, throwing her hands up in exasperation.</p>
<p>     Folding her arms across her chest, she peeked at Sam out of the corner of her eye. He was doing the same to her, a slight smile curling the very corners of his lips. When he noticed she’d caught him looking, he refocused on the road, hands flexing around the wheel. Turning her gaze back to the road, she shook her head, then felt herself flying upright in her seat.</p>
<p>     Eyes wide, she craned her neck, trying to follow the progress of the truck she had just seen. Big, rusty and dull red, it had been driving in the opposite direction, three people crammed into the bench seat. Three very familiar people. Three people who were going to be haunting her nightmares for months to come.</p>
<p>     “Lindsey, what is it?” Came Sam’s voice. He, too, was craning his head, trying to get a look at what she had seen. “What did you see?”</p>
<p>     “It was them,” Lindsey’s voice was tight, strangled. She swallowed, pressing a hand to her chest to calm herself. “The guys from the bar.”</p>
<p>     “Steve, Tim and Reggie?” Sam asked, shock raising the pitch of his voice just a little. “Did they see you?”</p>
<p>     “I don’t know,” Lindsey shook her head, unsure.</p>
<p>     “Lindsey, did they see you?” His voice was rising, panic evident in every line of his body. “Think hard.”</p>
<p>     “I don’t…” she began, then stopped. She’d definitely met eyes with the one sitting in the middle, the one that hadn’t been at the bar. “Yes,” she admitted, shamed. “I met eyes with one of them. I don’t know if he recognised me, though.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, he’ll have recognised you alright,” Sam muttered darkly, pulling the car up outside of a quaint looking shop. He paused, hand on the release of his seatbelt. “We’ll have to be quick about this.”</p>
<p>     “Okay,” Lindsey agreed, undoing her own belt. “Quick. Can do.”</p>
<p>     With that, she opened her door and slid out, Sam doing the same on the other side. They got to the shop door one after the other, Sam leading the way in, crumpled list held tight in his fist. Wide shoulders were raised high, tense, and Lindsey couldn’t help holding her own shoulders the same way. Despite what had happened to her so far, despite the problems she had faced in this new world, she trusted Sam, trusted his instincts. Whatever was coming their way, Sam could handle it. That, she was sure of.</p>
<p>     <em>If only Sam were as certain of himself</em>, she wondered, <em>would we be running all the time</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in the desk chair at Bobby’s house. Research was getting them nowhere. All they had discovered was that Dean was the Michael Sword, and that the Apocalypse was coming. Now, Bobby was in hospital, recovering from a self-inflicted wound to stop Meg, looking like he would never walk again. Castiel was God knew where… Though, come to think of it, God probably didn’t. It didn’t seem like God cared much about his creations, or his kids. And Sam… Sam was…</p>
<p>     Well, Sam was gone. It was Dean’s fault he was gone, too. He’d told Sam to kill his<em> son</em>, and what had he been thinking with <em>that</em> one? Sure, the kid might have been half demon, but Sam had been right: the baby was still an innocent. If it weren’t for how angry he still was, Dean might have been tempted to eat his words and offer Sam an apology, offer him a chance to come home. He didn’t even know where Sam <em>was</em>, for god’s sake, if he was alive, if he was well, if he was safe or injured or hunted. Dean just didn’t know.</p>
<p>     Everything in him was screaming for him to put aside his pride just for a few minutes, just for enough time for him to phone Sam, to see if his little brother was safe. But then… Well, Sam wasn’t phoning him either, was he? He wasn’t bothering to see if Dean was safe, wasn’t phoning to check up or even to apologise, and Sam had a<em> lot</em> he ought to apologise for.</p>
<p>     Groaning, Dean rubbed at his temples. The benefit of not having Sam around meant that he didn’t have to worry if Sam was going to go dark-side any time soon. If he did it while they were separated, the first Dean would know about it would be on a hunt. Maybe then, he’d be more prepared to do what their Dad had ordered years ago, and kill Sam instead of trying to save him. Dean had his doubts that he’d ever be prepared to do that to his brother, that he’d ever be<em> able</em> to do that to his brother, but telling himself he could never hurt anyone.</p>
<p>     A sharp buzzing rattle drew Dean out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>     On the table, his phone was vibrating insistently, screen lighting up with a picture of him and Sam from a few months ago, before changing to the answer-call screen. Even as he stared at the red and green bars on his phone, the picture burned itself behind his eyelids. He’d taken it in one of their rare good moments in the last year, had set it as his background during a sentimentally driven drunken fit. Seeing it sent pangs through him, and he slid the green accept call button across the screen quickly, not bothering to check who’s name was on the screen.</p>
<p>     “Dean,” his brother’s voice was hard, flat. It stunned Dean so much to hear it that he remained silent. “We need to talk.”</p>
<p>     For a few moments, Dean remained startled, wordless, but then he said, “No, Sam. You don’t get to do that.”</p>
<p>     “Do what?” Sam asked, sounding confused. Dean could just picture his brother’s crumpled forehead, brows pulled down in bewilderment.</p>
<p>     “Vanish into nowhere, not call for ages, then just pick up the phone and tell me ‘we need to talk’,” Dean’s voice was gruffer than he’d meant to be, but his point still stood. “You didn’t even say ‘hello’.”</p>
<p>     “Vanish into—” Sam cut himself off, incredulity raising his voice. Dean pulled the phone away from his ear just a little. “Dean, <em>you</em> told me to go. I’m just doing what you wanted.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, because you started the <em>Apocalypse</em>, Sam,” Dean pointed out, grinding his teeth in annoyance. God, but sometimes his little brother was so stupid. “You don’t just get to… To be forgiven for that.”</p>
<p>     “I know that, Dean,” Sam’s voice was soft, warbling slightly. Picturing his brother near tears curled guilt through Dean, but he steeled himself against it. Crying wasn’t going to help anybody now, so Sam could damn well suck it up and deal with it. He could cry when the world wasn’t doomed. “I do. I just…” A door sounded like it opened and closed in the background, another voice faintly audible in the background. When Sam spoke next, his voice was distant, the phone obviously held away from him. “Lindsey, what’s up?”</p>
<p>     There was a murmuring reply. Even though Dean strained his ears trying to hear it, he couldn’t pick out a single word. Frustration gripped him, but he shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time.</p>
<p>     “Got yourself a new girlfriend?” he asked, ignoring the faint ‘who’s that?’ that he did hear down the line. The voice was definitely feminine, tired-sounding, stressed. “Really, Sam? Shacking up with someone while we’re all here fighting the Apocalypse?”</p>
<p>     “I’m not shacking up with anyone,” Sam argued, voice strained. He let out a heavy sigh. Dean just knew he’d dragged a huge hand down his face. “I’m working, Dean. Trying to fix my mess.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, well,” Dean pursed his lips, sinking back in his chair. He thought of Bobby, the look on his face when he’d learned he would probably never walk again, “It’s a pretty big mess.”</p>
<p>     “I know,” Sam agreed. A creak sounded down the phone, like somebody sitting on a bench that wasn’t entirely sure it wanted to take their weight. “That’s what I’m phoning about.”</p>
<p>     Dean didn’t say anything, letting Sam speak in his own time.</p>
<p>     “If anybody asks about a psychic baby, any hunter, any monster,” Sam said, causing Dean to close his eyes and breath out a steady, controlled breath. His nostrils still flared with the gesture. “Tell them it’s dead.”</p>
<p>     “Dead?” Shock coursed through Dean. Sam hadn’t, had he? God, but if he had because Dean had said—He stopped himself from thinking those thoughts. Just because he said something, didn’t mean Sam had to go and do it. If Sam had done something, it was his own choice. “You killed it?”</p>
<p>     Sam didn’t say anything, simply huffing out angrily. Dean didn’t push it.</p>
<p>     They stayed that way for at least half a minute, neither breaking the silence that fell between them. Eventually, Dean let out a heavy sigh.</p>
<p>     “Okay, Sam,” Dean agreed, knowing his exhaustion could be heard in his tone. At this point, he just didn’t care anymore. “I’ll tell anyone asking. Though who would be, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>     “Thanks, Dean,” Sam said, sounding sincere. It was almost like old times, before Dean had gone to Hell. Hell, before Sam had died at Cold Oak. Dean muttered a quick ‘anytime’, before moving to disconnect the call. He paused when Sam said, “Dean, I <em>am</em> glad you’re okay.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, Sam,” Dean agreed, tiredly. He rubbed a hand down his face, the stubble on his chin prickling at his palm. He needed a shave, badly. “I’m glad you’re not dead, or whatever.”</p>
<p>     “Bye, De—” Sam’s voice cut out as Dean slid the end-call slider across the screen.</p>
<p>     With a groan, he tossed his cell onto the table, eyes moving with it as it landed with a clatter and skimmed across the desk to the other side. Disinterestedly, he watched it teeter on the edge, deciding ultimately that it wasn’t going to fall. Knowing himself, Dean was sure that he wouldn’t have tried to stop it if it had. He was just so <em>exhausted</em>.</p>
<p>     Still, there was work to be done, and things to figure out. What to do about Bobby, what to do about him being the Michael Sword, what to do about Sam’s weird, cryptic phone call and the possibly dead, but possibly not, baby….</p>
<p>     All of it was swirling through his mind, niggling and pushing and whispering and bothering. What he really needed was a rest, but that wasn’t something he was going to get any time soon. Instead, he’d have to make do with alcohol, just like the rest of the human race.</p>
<p>     Sighing, Dean hauled himself out of the chair and towards the fridge. There would be beer in there, nice and cool, if a little watered down. With one of those, he could settle back in to do some more research, figure out some way – <em>any</em> way – of stopping the Apocalypse. Because he <em>had</em> to. He just did.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I would like to add now that Evan is very much not dead! It's just that Sam wants it to seem that way to anyone who asks, to hopefully get hunters off his back. So don't panic! </p>
<p>Anyway, like I said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to leave a comment, if you wish. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Loki felt the change in the balance of the universe when the soul-blond spell was done. Now, he's on the hunt for the younger Winchester for real. Dean, too, needs to speak to his brother, having just got back from the Croatoan universe.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Eight</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Loki – he refused to think of himself as Gabriel, refused to think of himself as anything other than a furious pagan god – let out a cry of rage as he felt the shift in the universe. Even without being able to locate the younger Winchester and his entourage of crazies, he knew when it had happened, when that Abomination had bonded his soul to an infant child’s.</p>
<p>     The snap of energy had rocked the state they were in, probably the whole of America. A creature with that much power creating a soul-bond, especially to another immensely powerful being, was going to cause a disturbance. Loki knew that Winchester, Baby and the others would be moving on soon. But for now, Loki had his chance.</p>
<p>     Pushing his awareness outwards, away from where his vessel was located, he began pinpointing the location at which the soul-bond had taken place. Lingering power would be coating everything in the area, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find. Winchester’s sulphur-smell would cling to every surface, would seep into every nook and cranny. How that psychic – Missouri, Loki believed her name was – could stand to be near it, he didn’t know. Everything Winchester touched was tinged with Hell. It sickened Loki, set his grace to roiling turmoil.</p>
<p>     Now, that poor, innocent baby would be subjected to Winchester’s taint, too.</p>
<p>     Fury frothing his grace, rocking him within his vessel, Loki concentrated on tracking the group down. He had some words for them, choice words, and they were going to hear them. Already, from this distance, he could tell that it was the sort of soul bond that would cause pain to the infant and to Winchester if they were separated. It was a play on their part, one they could use against him. As hunters and hunter friends, they didn’t care if the child was injured, but Loki did care and they knew it.</p>
<p>     What they wanted with the boy was unclear, but they would get it now. Or at least, they would keep the opportunity close. Loki wasn’t sure what game they were playing yet, but he’d find out. And when he found out, he’d stop them. Immediately.</p>
<p>     A savage grin spread across his face when he located the origin point of the soul bond. A small cabin, ramshackle and cob-webbed (hardly the sort of place to keep a child, let alone a <em>baby</em>) off the side of a rarely-travelled dirt road. Interesting. When Loki had passed that road himself, the cabin had remained unnoticed. Evidently, effective wards were on it, enough to dispel interest, even for archangels. Sometimes he had to admit he was glad he wasn’t<em> just</em> a god, otherwise he’d have already lost Baby to Winchester. </p>
<p>     Wishing he could fly, but knowing it would only draw attention to himself from Heaven, Loki instead parted reality, stepping through it like a doorway. It was a technique the<em> real</em> Loki had had to teach him, back before he’d assumed his identity. Since then, the pagan had been in hiding, apparently glad not to be called on anymore. According to him, as a trickster, his being worshipped had annoyed him. Too many rules and regulations or something. As a former angel, Loki was used to rules and regulations (though he’d often chosen to believe that the rules didn’t really apply to him.)</p>
<p>     Arrival at his destination brought him out of his own mind.</p>
<p>     Following the trace of the spell had brought him out onto a dry, dusty road. Actually, if Loki were being honest, it was more pothole than road. Squashing down his surprise that Winchester and the others had survived driving on it with their necks intact, he stretched his senses out, searching for them.</p>
<p>     He didn’t find them.</p>
<p>     What he did find, however, was a complete absence of them. Of anything, really, but it did tell Loki exactly where they were. Pleased with himself, Loki focused his attention on that blank spot in the world and endeavoured to follow it. He’d reveal himself when it was time, when it was safe. They were on a main road, and Loki didn’t want to harm anyone unnecessarily. However, the younger Winchester and whatever plans we was plotting had to be stopped. There was no way anybody was getting out of the Apocalypse alive if they weren’t. So, of course, that meant taking that child from Winchester and raising it as his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trying to settle into the soul bond he’d created with Evan was difficult, and one that required physical contact to settle them. Evan had been restless the second Sam had tried to put him in his car seat. It hadn’t taken any deliberating on Sam’s part before he was climbing into the back seat, squishing his legs into the limited space available. Missouri had climbed into the driver’s seat, declaring that she was taking them towards her home in Lawrence. Lindsey sat next to her, looking pinched and uncomfortable. Every few minutes, she threw glances back towards Sam and Evan.</p>
<p>     Cramped and aching as he was, Sam was finally beginning to settle. There was a new equilibrium in his world, one that let him feel odd amounts of reassurance for the circumstances.</p>
<p>     Through the bond, Sam could<em> feel</em> Evan just a little, just enough to know that he was okay. It was almost like what he’d shared with Dean, once before, though more tangible even than that. Sam suspected that their relationship had become so strained that Dean wouldn’t even notice if he died, now. He wondered if he’d notice if Dean died, either. He used to think it would be impossible not to know, that everything in the universe would stop, just for a second, just enough time for Sam to realise his own world had ended. Would that be the case, anymore?</p>
<p>     Shaking those thoughts off, reminding himself that Dean had been willing to speak to him the previous night, even if the conversation was strained and awkward, Sam moved his hand from where it was resting on Evan’s chest.</p>
<p>     Unable to break contact, and not wanting to anyway, Sam moved his fingers upwards to brush at his son’s cheeks. They were soft under his calloused fingertips, smooth as silk. Sam wondered if Evan would even live long enough for them to become rougher, shadowed with stubble. He doubted it.</p>
<p>     “Stop your worrying,” Missouri’s voice was stern but kind, interrupting Sam’s spiralling thoughts. “Evan is just fine. He’ll live to a grand old age if I have any say in it.”</p>
<p>     “And me,” Lindsey piped up, surprising both Sam and Missouri. Both turned to look at her, though Missouri was the first to turn her gaze away, focusing back on the road instead. “What?” she asked, shooting hurt wide eyes at the both of them. A little guilt ran through Sam, but he shook it off. Nobody could blame him for thinking that Lindsey might hate him after everything he’d dragged her into. “I like Evan. He’s the only one of you lot that makes any sense.”</p>
<p>     “That he is,” Missouri agreed, flicking on the blinker to take them down a smaller road. There were no cars going that way, shrouded as it was by a bush, and Sam felt himself tensing again. In his car seat, Evan let out a displeased whimper. “From the sounds of it, he’s saying we stop off for some lunch.”</p>
<p>     Sam wanted to argue, wanted to say that they couldn’t, but he knew that they couldn’t wait for too long. They’d need somewhere to warm a bottle for Evan, so a motel was in order. Luckily, Missouri seemed to have pulled them off the main road and into a small town, one with only one motel. How she had known it was there was anybody’s guess, unless she had stayed in it on the way up. Which, come to think of it, Sam suspected was probably the case.</p>
<p>     Ruefully, Sam shook his head and unhooked the car seat, exiting the car with it in hand. It was an awkward manoeuvre, but a necessary one. The bond he’d built with Evan meant that he couldn’t let anyone too near the infant yet, not unless he wanted to lash out uncontrollably. Even if Sam tried to fight it, the bond was stronger. Nobody could deny their actual soul, not without intense training and many years of practise. Apparently, according to Missouri, it was difficult even then.</p>
<p>     Out of the car and glad of it – Sam was often far too big to fit in most cars, let alone that crappy one he’d stolen days ago – he went to check in with the others. There weren’t many rooms available, but there was enough for Sam and Evan to share one, with Missouri and Linsey taking another. Briefly, Sam wondered if they would survive that – neither lady seemed particularly keen on the other – before brushing the thought off. It wasn’t productive. Plus, they were adults. He trusted them to know what they could deal with, what they could stand.</p>
<p>     “Right, well,” Sam said as they exited the lobby. It was nicely done up, if a little bland, but neither he nor the women were fooled into thinking that their rooms would be. “I’ll go and feed Evan, then come to your room?”</p>
<p>     “Or,” Lindsey said, making it clear that she wasn’t going to argue with them on this. “We can all go to your room, seeing as <em>you</em> know the protection symbols? You can come and do our room after feeding Evan.”</p>
<p>     “Right, yeah, okay,” Sam nodded, sending a thin-lipped smile the blonde’s way. What she said made sense, and Sam wondered at how rattled he was by his new bond, so much so that he wasn’t thinking clearly. “This way then, I guess.”</p>
<p>     With a decisive nod, Lindsey followed after Sam. Behind her, Missouri trailed, arms folded and head shaking. Her brown woollen cardigan was wrapped tightly around her, swaying slightly in the breeze, and Sam couldn’t help but think that it looked comfortable. He wondered if he owned any comfortable clothing. Only at Bobby’s, he realised. So, no. He didn’t.</p>
<p>     Together, they walked to his room. At the door, Sam handed Missouri the key. The older woman went in first, followed by Lindsey, with Sam bringing up the rear. Once inside, he blinked.</p>
<p>     “I think I preferred the cabin,” Lindsey muttered, wide brown eyes flicking around the room. Sam couldn’t blame her. He <em>definitely </em>preferred the cabin. From his car seat, Evan gave a little hiccough, evidently he agreed. “There’s just so much <em>plaid</em>.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey wasn’t wrong. There were a few things that weren’t plaid in the room; the walls, painted an odd pink-cream colour; the carpet, a thinning, straggly red; the rickety desk fixed to the wall in the corner, holding an ancient TV and looking like it might collapse at any moment. However, Sam’s bedspread was plaid, as was the pattern on the travel crib set up in one corner. What’s more, weird plaid canvasses were hung on the walls, the lampshade made of a matching design. Even the curtains were covered in the checks, the same red-green mess.</p>
<p>     “Well, you’ll fit right in,” Lindsey was looking Sam up and down, eyeing him with an almost playful gleam in her eye. Sam sent a strained smile back to her, knowing it didn’t actually convey any cheerfulness at all. Seeing his expression, she rubbed her hands over her thighs, before deciding, “I’ll start the milk warming.”</p>
<p>     Nodding, Sam left her to it. Missouri had taken a seat on the wobbly chair by the desk, lowering herself slowly enough that she could leap up if the furniture collapsed beneath her. After a few seconds of waiting, she decided that it wasn’t going to fall apart, so let herself relax a little more. It creaked ominously, but other than that, it remained upright. Sam was glad. He didn’t want her to be hurt by their poor accommodation. Especially not since she was here for him.</p>
<p>     Turning, Sam readied himself to start the protective wards. He had decided to use a sharpie this time, not wanting the harsh chemical smell to permeate the air for too long. Evan didn’t often react well to it, and Sam had got fed up of his neighbours throwing heavy items at the wall in some misguided effort to make Evan stop. The loud noises only made things worse, which Sam could have told them even if he <em>didn’t</em> know his son.</p>
<p>     Gently, he placed the boy’s baby carrier down on the ground at his feet, not wanting to be any further from him than that. He could already feel the pull of his soul bond, demanding he pick Evan up again, but he couldn’t. In his seat, his son began to wriggle restlessly, unhappy with the turn of events.</p>
<p>     Hurriedly, Sam uncapped the sharpie and began to draw, breathing in the sharp smell of the pen as it cut through the otherwise musty air.</p>
<p>     He was halfway through his usual protective symbols when his phone began to ring. Ignoring it, he finished the symbols. While he was working, it rang twice. A third call came through, and with the symbols done, Sam found he had no excuse but to answer it, even if all he wanted to do was curl up with Evan and ignore the world until things settled. Capping his pen, he slid the accept call bar across on his cell, not bothering to check who it was. That when the door burst open.<em> Again</em>.   </p>
<p>     “Heya, Winchester.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey screamed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean had just got back from the crazy future world, the one overrun with Croatoan victims and Lucifer wearing Sam’s vessel. It had been a horrifying future, one Dean hoped dearly he could prevent. Things weren’t looking like they were going to turn away from that future, turn down a better path, either. Nobody could tell him where Sam was. There hadn’t been any sightings of his brother for days. What’s more, wherever Sam had been staying had had no signal, that or he’d turned his cell off, because no call Dean made to him got through.</p>
<p>     It had been a few weeks since they’d split up. Now, Dean was ready to get back together with Sam, start hunting monsters with his little brother. Somebody had to keep an eye on him, and it might as well be Dean. He didn’t trust this Lindsey figure that he’d never met, especially not with someone like Sam. Apparently, all you needed was a pretty face and he’d turn away from all that was good and right.</p>
<p>     The fact that Sam may or not have a baby on him was one that Dean was ignoring. If Sam had killed the baby, Dean would be furious. If he hadn’t, Dean would take over its care. God knew a junkie like Sam couldn’t truly care for a baby, not if they were always jonesing for a hit. What’s more, when Sam said yes to Lucifer – because Dean knew he would – the baby would need somebody to care for it. He could be that person, though he knew from the future he had been in that the child wouldn’t last. Probably stolen by demons or killed by the Devil himself, if he hadn’t already been killed by his father.</p>
<p>     Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Dean would care for the kid, if it were alive. Sam could learn to take care of himself. Sure, Dean would help him – he didn’t trust the world not to destroy his brother without his help, nor for his brother not to destroy the world – but Sam would have to do most of the work.</p>
<p>     Pulling into Bobby’s drive drew Dean out of his bitter, scrambled thoughts. A brief worry about how he was going to explain Sam’s kid to Bobby – he’d not told the older man yet, for fear that it would upset him while he was still healing – drifted through his mind, but he shook it off. Right then, it didn’t matter. Sam wasn’t answering. Worry flared hot and bright in Dean’s stomach, but he pushed it down. As Sam had kept telling him last year, he was a big boy now and could take care of himself.</p>
<p>     “Cas!” Dean yelled instead, looking up at the sky. “Cas, get your feathery butt down here now, or so help me…!”</p>
<p>     Waiting as patiently as he could, which wasn’t very patiently at all, Dean spun around. Eyes still fixed on the sky, he didn’t notice the angel appearing. He jumped when he heard Castiel’s voice saying his name in its usual flat tone.</p>
<p>     “Don’t <em>do </em>that!” Dean snapped, pressing a hand to his chest, over his wildly beating heart. “I’m going to attach bells to you. Jeez.”</p>
<p>     “What purpose would that serve?” Cas cocked his head to the side, deep blue eyes narrowed at Dean. Confusion masked his true expression for only a moment, before the angel righted his head and pursed his lips. Whatever Cas was feeling, it wasn’t a good emotion. “What do you want, Dean?”</p>
<p>     “Have you seen Sam?” Dean asked hurriedly. “I can’t get a hold of him.”</p>
<p>     “Of course you can’t,” Cas pointed out reasonably. He stepped forward, drawing closer to Dean. “He is not here, Dean.”</p>
<p>     “Not like that, you idiot,” Dean hissed. Taking a moment, he closed his eyes. Yelling at the angel wasn’t something he had been meaning to do. Cas didn’t deserve his ire. He hadn’t been the one to throw him into the future, and he <em>certainly </em>hadn’t been involved in Sam starting the apocalypse. In all honesty, Cas was one of the few people left Dean could trust. Other than the angel, he only really had Bobby, but that wasn’t in any hunting capacity. “I mean, I can’t get through to him on his cell.”</p>
<p>     To demonstrate, Dean pulled his cell phone out, hitting speed dial one – he really needed to change that – and letting the call ring. To his surprise, this time the call went through. Instead of hearing Sam’s answering machine, boring and rote as always, someone picked up, a scream the first thing he heard. It was quick, startled more than anything, with only a brief note of panic, before it stopped, replaced by the sounds of quiet chatter in the background, deep, slow breaths exhaled close to the microphone.</p>
<p>     “It appears Sam has answered,” Cas pointed out unhelpfully from the side, but Dean waved him off. Talking to Cas about the finer points of phone etiquette was something he’d do later. First, he had to reprimand his brother for ignoring him.</p>
<p>     He had just opened his mouth, ready to tear into Sam, when he heard a thunderous crash, followed by a faintly familiar voice saying something Dean couldn’t work out. Something was going on. That was only confirmed when the sounds of a baby crying started up, loud and insistent. Nothing good could come from a wail like that.</p>
<p>     Another thud came, this one much softer. When the voices started up again, they were much quieter, distant. Sam had dropped his phone. Probably busy pulling out a weapon, getting ready to fight. Though maybe not. Dean never knew with Sam these days.</p>
<p>     Shaking off his uncharitable thoughts – they weren’t doing anybody any good right then – Dean adjusted the volume on his phone, turning it up higher. Out in the salvage yard, the open air swallowed the sounds from the other end of the line. With an impatient finger, Dean beckoned to Cas, repositioning them both so they were on Bobby’s porch. The walls around them trapped the sound a little, amplified it enough that Dean could hear it. Wide-eyed, Dean and Cas both listened in.</p>
<p>     “—You can’t separate us now,” Sam was saying. Why, Dean didn’t know. “Not without hurting him.”</p>
<p>     “You could just undo the link,” Another voice pointed out almost amiably, but with an undercurrent of threat to it. Dean knew that voice, though from where he couldn’t remember. Not immediately. “Reverse the spell. Let <em>me</em> take the kid, and I’ll let you live.”</p>
<p>     Another voice cut in, this one female. Lindsey, Dean recognised. She must have been the one who screamed, too. “You have to let him live anyway.” Her voice was clearly meant to be reasonable, but there was a slight tremble to it. She was scared. “If you want the baby to be okay, I mean.”</p>
<p>     So the baby was still alive, then. Sam just wanted the story told that it was dead. Made sense, Dean figured. Even at his darkest points, Sam still tried to protect the people he loved. Once upon a time, Dean had assumed that was him, but it turned out Ruby had won out over him in the end. Somehow, Dean suspected that the baby Sam was dragging around with him, getting into trouble, <em>endangering</em>, was more important than even her. Dean wondered if anybody would ever come before this baby in his brother’s life ever again.</p>
<p>     Nobody had spoken for a while, but a savage snarl and pained grunts told Dean that their visitor was doing something, and it wasn’t good. Panic bit into him briefly, but then it let him go. Sam had crazy demon blood powers, didn’t he? Dean was under no misapprehensions; his brother would still be drinking the blood, telling himself that it was in the name of protecting his child or something. Only he and Dean would know that that wasn’t the case.</p>
<p>     “You stop that,” came another voice, also familiar. “You’re going to injure that boy.”</p>
<p>     Dean sucked a short breath in when he realised who it was: Missouri Moseley, the psychic who had helped them back when they were looking for their father. He hadn’t heard from her in years, hadn’t thought Sam had kept in touch. Unless he hadn’t, he supposed. Maybe he’d just gone looking for a new teacher, now that Ruby was rotting on a church floor somewhere. What Sam had said to persuade the woman to train him was anybody’s guess.</p>
<p>     “Loki,” Sam’s voice was strained, tense but also angry. No, furious. Dean hadn’t heard him sound like that since they’d been on the siren hunt, and even then it had been hazy, heard through a fog. So off-put by Sam’s voice was Dean, that it took him a second to register who Sam was talking to. Loki. The Trickster. No wonder Dean had thought the voice had sounded familiar. “You can’t have him. You might as well leave.”</p>
<p>     “Might as well give him up, Sam,” Dean muttered to himself, glad that in all the commotion nobody would hear him talking. “If Loki wants him, it’s a pretty good indication of his nature, I’d say. Not the sort of thing you want to be hanging around with.”</p>
<p>     “What was that?”</p>
<p>     Dean froze, panicked. Realisation began to sink in like a weight, dragging his stomach down, down, down. Loki was a god. He could hear Dean through the phone, even if nobody else could. Goddamn it, how could he be so<em> stupid</em>?</p>
<p>     “Dean Winchester,” Loki’s voice purred, dark amusement curling his voice. Cat-like, he said, “I thought you’d given up on little brother.”</p>
<p>     “Somebody has to make sure he doesn’t say yes to Lucifer,” Dean growled, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist when Loki only laughed. “Might as well be me.”</p>
<p>     He began pacing, Cas stepping back to get out of his way. His feet were heavy on the wooden planks of the porch. Ignoring the way he was scraping peeling paint off with each step, knowing Bobby was going to give him Hell over it later, Dean took the phone off of speaker and pressed it to his ear. He knew Cas could still hear it, that he wouldn’t make the conversation private by doing so, but it was the principle of it. Having it pressed against his cheek, screen cool and hard, made the connection feel more personal, more threatening.</p>
<p>     “Don’t tell Sammy that,” Loki’s voice was gleeful. Dean could just imagine his eyes, whiskey catching sunlight, flashing violently. “He doesn’t know yet.”</p>
<p>     “Doesn’t know what?” Sam’s voice was faint in the background, confused and annoyed both. “Don’t call me Sammy.”</p>
<p>     “Why?” Loki was clearly directing that question to Sam. “Because only Dean gets to call you that?”</p>
<p>     “No. Because I don’t like it.”</p>
<p>     Hurt rushed through Dean. He remembered a time when Sam had told Gordon to his face that only Dean got to call him by ‘Sammy’, but he guessed that was no more. Considering their history for the last few months, Dean wasn’t surprised. Still, he was a little confused to realise how much it pained him. He’d thought he’d got over Sam’s betrayals weeks ago.</p>
<p>     “Anyway, Deano,” Loki’s voice was falsely light, his attention clearly not focused on Dean at all. “I have a dick to deal with. I’ll let you go.”</p>
<p>     “Loki,” Dean’s voice was gruff, low and level, threatening. “If you hurt one hair on Sam’s head—”</p>
<p>     “Didn’t you hear?” Loki asked, sounding frustrated. The fact that Sam could still frustrate the god did make Dean pleased, just a little. Tamping the feeling down inside of him, he focused his attention on the Trickster instead. “I can’t hurt one hair on precious Sammy’s head. But don’t worry, I have a plan.”</p>
<p>     “Loki!” Dean tried to catch the god’s attention, tried to drag him away from the clear consideration coating every word the Pagan spoke. Whatever he was planning, Dean knew he wasn’t going to like it. His heart was beating fast in his chest, thumping against his ribs. In his throat, he could feel his pulse, hammering along with his panicked anger. “Loki, wait—”</p>
<p>     Just like that, a crunching could be heard, then a beeping tone. Sam’s phone was destroyed. The god had likely crushed it in his fist, ruining it completely. All circuitries damaged, sparking, shattered on the floor, left there like yesterday’s garbage. That was his connection to Sam gone. That was the task of stopping the apocalypse made more difficult, enormously so. That was his connection to Sam’s situation lost, perhaps for good.</p>
<p>     Fist clenched tightly around his cell, Dean wished he had the ability to crush his, too. The satisfaction it would have given him would be endless.</p>
<p>     Together, Dean and Cas stood there in silence, processing. It took a few seconds, the breeze blowing past softly, ringing with the silence. Neither was willing to break it for a moment, not until Dean turned back, facing the angel once again. The porch creaked with his movement, though it prompted no response from Cas.</p>
<p>     “We need to find him,” Dean decided, firm. Cas made no argument. “Before it’s too late.”</p>
<p>     But too late for what, was the question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shock bloomed within Sam, within all of them, when they heard Loki’s plan. His plan, weird as it seemed, was to just… stay with them. He was going to tag along with them and make sure that the kid wasn’t harmed, wasn’t damaged by the way they brought him up. If Loki couldn’t raise the child himself, he was going to be there to stop Sam doing anything stupid with him. Which, on the one hand, Sam was glad to have help with Evan, but help given by Loki? Surely, nobody could be glad about that?</p>
<p>     Arguments had arisen from both Lindsey and Missouri, and all three of them had tried to put forward their case <em>against</em> the god staying with them for a good half an hour. Every argument they gave, Loki had just shut down, and eventually they had to agree. While he made it clear that he didn’t like any of them, he had promised not to harm any of them, either. There would be no injuries brought to them by him, at the very least.  </p>
<p>     After that, overridden and on unsure footing, none of them had had the wherewithal to argue when he’d brought them to his own safe-house, snapping his fingers and plopping them down in Europe, of all places. He’d told them they were in a pocket of the universe, an area of land he’d tucked away for himself, somewhere nobody could find unless they were given the location. Because of that, they weren’t allowed to leave without him accompanying them.</p>
<p>     Having explained that to them, he’d wandered off and left them alone, telling them to explore their new environment. Throwing a dirty look at Sam, one that spoke clearly of what the god thought of him, he’d stalked from the room, leaving them under their own supervision. </p>
<p>     “What do we do now?” Lindsey asked, turning worried eyes to Sam. It still surprised him how much she trusted him, even when it was clear he couldn’t really protect her. In fact, it was obvious he just kept dragging her into more of his messes. How did she expect him to save her? “Can we get out of here?”</p>
<p>     “Don’t be silly,” Missouri snapped, clearly not happy herself. “If a god has put us in their pocket, we won’t be able to get out ourselves.”</p>
<p>     “But look at this place!” Lindsey threw her hands in the air. Sam looked around as well, Evan still held in his baby carrier. “It looks like the sort of place someone like, I don’t know—” She grasped for inspiration, making grabby hands by her sides as if she could pluck it from the air as it dove past her. Finding it, she exclaimed, “—Thor would be at home in.”</p>
<p>     “That’s because it is,” Loki’s voice startled Sam. He’d thought the god had left. “I’ve finished creating your rooms. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to them.” He snapped his fingers, leaving Sam to flinch. Behind him, both Missouri and Lindsey did as well. To Sam’s surprise, all that happened was a bottle appearing, filled with what looked like milk. “For the baby.”</p>
<p>     Narrowing his eyes, Sam reached out for it, but didn’t give it to Evan right away. Suspiciously, he eyed the god, pursing his lips. Slowly, keeping eye-contact with Gabriel, Sam turned the bottle upside down and let a small amount of it squeeze out onto his palm. It ran down his palm, collecting in the middle, staining his life and love lines bright white.</p>
<p>     Raising the milk-like substance to his mouth, Sam swallowed a mouthful, waiting for something to happen. He waited a few more moments. Nothing did.</p>
<p>     “For Odin’s sake!” Loki snapped, clearly exasperated. “Are you happy now? It’s not poisoned. Honestly, with you ‘caring’ for it—” He made no secret of just how he thought Sam was caring for Evan, “It’s a wonder it’s survived this long.”</p>
<p>     Sam supposed that he wasn’t wrong there, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.</p>
<p>     Handing the bottle to Lindsey, Sam bent down and unclipped Evan from the car seat, cradling him carefully in his arms. Taking the bottle back off Lindsey, Sam brought the teat to Evan’s lips, let the baby mouth at it briefly before latching on, suckling strongly. It was a relief to get Evan fed, and a shock to see just how hungry he was. Milk ran down the sides of his face in the enthusiasm he had to eat, and Sam kicked himself internally for leaving it so long between feeds. Though, in his defence, he <em>had</em> been about to feed Evan before Loki had shown up and ruined that plan.</p>
<p>     “Evan,” he murmured, eyes darting from Evan’s face to Loki’s, startling at the furrow-browed expression on the god’s face that seemed more confusion than anger, then watching with a flicker of amusement as Loki’s face blanked with his lack of understanding. “The baby. <em>He’s</em> called Evan.”</p>
<p>     “Right,” Loki drawled, expression clearing, turning mocking again. He sauntered closer. Sam withdrew into himself slightly, gratitude towards Lindsey and Missouri curling in his chest when the two women stepped forward, putting themselves between Loki and the baby – and by extension Sam – with folded arms and stony expressions. At least, he thought their expressions were stony. The way their shoulders were set gave that impression, though he couldn’t see their faces, with them turned away from him. Loki came to a stop, eyebrow raised. “And you just happen to know the baby’s name because…?”</p>
<p>     “Because I named him,” Sam’s voice was mild, gaze fixed on Evan now. He didn’t dare look up at Loki, didn’t dare see how he reacted. “Because he’s my son.”</p>
<p>     “Your son?” Loki’s voice was flat, disbelieving. Sam got the impression that he hadn’t quite registered what he’d heard. “Your son?!” his voice was louder, surprised. “<em>Your</em> son?” </p>
<p>     The last time Loki said it, he said it with enough disgust that Sam felt wounded. It was like a punch to the gut, a vicious strike hitting him while he was already winded. It wasn’t fair. But then again, Sam knew he didn’t deserve fairness, didn’t deserve kindness. He’d started the apocalypse. Of course Loki would be horrified to learn that Sam had a son of his own.</p>
<p>     “The vessel of Lucifer has a son?” Loki asked, voice rising. It was almost trilling by the time he said, “Oh, this is rich!”</p>
<p>     Sam barely heard the last sentence, though. No, all he could hear was ‘vessel of Lucifer’. It struck him, a dagger between the ribs, robbing him of his breath. Arms locked in place, eyes still fixed to Evan’s face but wide, unblinking, Sam opened his mouth.</p>
<p>     “What?” he asked, but all he got in response was Loki’s cruel laughter, getting louder and louder as it went on, and on, and on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam has just been told he's Lucifer's vessel. Dean is struggling with a case. Loki thinks Sam should play his part. It's just a very stressful day for Sam, to be honest.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy this chapter! I know Loki came off as awful in the last chapter, but I absolutely am making it so that Loki does want them all to play their parts in the Apocalypse. He tried to warn Sam, after all, so he's angry and he's lashing out. The creation he so loves is about to come to an end, because Sam wouldn't listen to him. But don't worry! He won't always be like that, and he's totally going to be guilt-tripping himself over his current actions later. (Let's be real, Gabe is just as prone to self-loathing as Sam is). </p>
<p>Also, thank you to everyone who's been commenting and leaving kudos. Unfortunately, for those who have been enjoying the regular updates, I am going to have to cut down on the frequency of them. I'll now update only on Saturdays, as I'm about to be moving off of the small island I live on and into a big city, so I'm going to need adjustment time. Plus, I'll have far less time to write. So, Saturday updates from now on. :) </p>
<p>Anyway, I'll stop rambling on. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Feel free to leave a comment if you wish! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Nine</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Darkness swirled like smoke around him. Flames licked at his shins. Ice spread in jagged patterns above him. Icicles the size of stalactites, enormous and deadly, pointed accusing fingers towards him, and Sam cowered back, raising his hands above his head. Eyes squeezed shut, he turned his face away, drew his shoulders high. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     When nothing happened, nothing save for the tinkling sound of falling ice in the distance, Sam dared peek a single eye open. His situation hadn’t changed. Around his feet, fire still danced, the crackle of it like laughter, choking on sick delight. Beyond the fire and the ice, there was no noise. No noise, that was, until he heard footsteps. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Rising from his crouch, Sam turned hesitantly, terrified of who he might find. Who he saw shocked him. </em>
</p>
<p><em>     Jessica,</em> his<em> Jessica, was walking towards him. At first, only relief and love rushed through him, soothing him. For the first time in a long, long while, Sam felt safe. It was only as he watched her for a few moments longer that he began to see how wrong he was, how wrong </em>she<em> was. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>     Her hair was writhing by itself, no breeze to pick it up, carry it. Her eyes, her beautiful grey eyes, the eyes Sam had loved so much, were icy blue, piercing through him. It was like she could see everything he was, everything he would ever be, and she understood. But, from the softly amused smile on her face, Sam feared what she had seen. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing he wanted to be carrying in his soul. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     As she stalked towards him, her body-language open, unimposing, strong, her features began to ripple. Slowly, they changed, her hair becoming just a little lighter, her nose sharpening, her skin paling. Before his eyes, his Jessica changed into Mary Winchester, smiling a motherly smile. Her eyes were still too cold, though, glowing with liquid ice. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Again, walking forwards, the features rippled. Heart beating like thunder in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, Sam staggered backwards. The figure kept coming, face always changing. It cycled through so many people he knew, Tyson, Dean, John, Bobby, back to Jessica again. </em>
</p>
<p><em>     Every single time, the eyes stayed the same. They stayed </em>wrong<em>. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>     Fear locking him in place, Sam licked his lips, swallowed down the lump in his throat. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Who are you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. Tongue dry, throat clicking, he tried again, “What do you want?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Oh, Sam,” the figure said, speaking with the voices of every face it changed into at once, along with something terrible and awful behind it. That extra tenor demanded worship, and Sam barely held himself back from prostrating himself on the ground before the creature. “Who do you think I am?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “I don’t…” to his surprise, Sam found his fingers were wrapped tightly into the bottom of his shirt, and he let go with a jolt. Sweat clammed up his palms, leaving him feeling awkward and unguarded. “I don’t know.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “We are the only one who loves you,” the voices told him, moving their ever-changing figure towards him. “We are the only one who can give you what you want, what you need.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Shaking his head, Sam finally unglued his feet from the floor. With some effort, he threw himself backwards, ignoring the flames he fell into. They did little more than tickle, kissing at his palms, licking at his forearms. It wasn’t the flames that worried him, no. It was that ever-advancing thing, coming straight for him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Drawing nearer still, it reached out for him. Sam felt as if he were going to be sick. In his neck, he could practically feel his pulse, pounding through him like a flash-flood through city streets. In his chest, his heart hurt with how hard it was pounding. Worse, his head ached, almost to the point of him screaming. Whatever a skull on the verge of exploding felt like, Sam was pretty sure this wasn’t far off. Clenching his teeth, he held his ground, though he didn’t get up from the floor. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Tell us you know who we are,” the figure practically begged. When Sam dared to meet it’s eyes, tears were shining there, a watery haze sparkling like rubies and sapphires in the glow of fire and ice all around them. Infinite sadness wound into their voice, thorns piercing straight through his ribcage, right into his heart. “Tell us, Sam. We love you.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Cold hands finally touched his face. He knew. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Lucifer,” he whispered, heart no longer beating in his chest, every river of blood in his body freezing over into glaciers. “You’re Lucifer.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “We are,” the figure agreed, still changing forms. A few new figures had been added to the mix since it had touched Sam, Lindsey and Missouri rippling into existence across its features. “And we love you. We need you. Just say yes.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Sam shook his head. Breath stuck in his throat, lungs no longer expanding, he longed for the ability to reach up, to push Lucifer’s hands away from him. Tears seeped upwards, flooded his eyes, when he realised he didn’t have the strength, would probably never have the strength. This was it. There he was, facing Lucifer, and he’d never have the strength. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “No,” he wailed, stone limbs raising themselves infinitesimally slowly, barely moving at all, until he had wound his fingers into his hair, had curled his face down to the floor. Lucifer’s hands tried to angle him up, but stubbornly he resisted. There was no better place for him to look than the ground, no sight he was more deserving of than the fire, creeping up his legs. Still, it didn’t burn. “No.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “You’re my true vessel,” Lucifer told him. Sam hadn’t thought he could possibly get colder, but upon hearing those words, that confessed truth, he felt himself turn to ice. A crack slithered through his heart, breaking it in two. In the tone of a lover, a mother, a brother, a father, a friend, Lucifer promised, “I’ll give you anything, if you only say yes.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Wavering, on the cusp of giving him everything, Sam closed his eyes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Go on,” Jessica’s voice encouraged, worming its way into his mind, digging through him, right to his very core. A new voice, one Sam knew well, added proudly, “My vessel.” </em>
</p>
<p><em>     It was that voice that did it, that voice that gave Sam the strength he needed. “I will never,” he bit out, his fury melting the ice, slamming his forearm across both of Lucifer’s. The archangel dropped his face, startled beyond measure. Through gritted teeth, Sam spat, “</em>Ever<em>, listen to that voice again. No!” </em></p>
<p>
  <em>     True surprise washed over Ruby’s face, Lucifer’s face, every incarnation of it he ran through. Offense visible in every line of his stolen bodies, he pulled back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “You will regret that, Samuel,” it told him, as if he were speaking to a naughty school-boy, or a naughty son. “And you will say yes.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     With that, Lucifer let out a wicked shriek of a laugh, more monster than man. It pierced through Sam’s ears, leaving his head ringing with it, until his mind was echoing with his own screams instead. With Lucifer gone, the flames began to bite, tearing into his flesh and blistering him. Unable to move, he writhed in place, blinking up through seared eyes as the icicles began to fall, shattering into a million diamonds, each sharp enough to pierce through his flesh, sever each vein where it thrummed. No pain had ever been worse than this, and now it would never stop. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     There was no end in sight. Somehow, in his burning and writhing and screaming and begging, Sam knew he would never escape this, knew that this was only the least of what Lucifer would do to him. Desperation to say ‘yes’ rose in his throat, a need he tried to swallow down with his sobs, but it stuck there in the back of his mouth, choking him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Lips pressed tight, teeth sinking into them, cutting them, washing his own mouth with blood, Sam stretched out an arm. Fingernails ragged, he tried to pull himself away from the flames, tried to drag himself to safety.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     They only followed him. There was nothing he could do, he was doomed. Doomed, he realised with horror, to an eternity of suffering. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Throat raw from screaming, Sam kicked his legs as best they could. It wasn’t much, with the way they were blackened, charcoal raw and soot dark. Unable to make noise anymore, Sam opened his mouth, let the blood bubble out from between his lips, blinked the tears from his eyes. They were steam before they even hit the ground, salt added to the scent of scorched flesh. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     In the quiet left in his voice’s wake, Sam heard something. It barely registered, beyond the screaming internally, the wish that he could just say ‘yes’, even though he knew he couldn’t, that he never, ever could. But, no matter how quiet, it was there. </em>
</p>
<p><em>     Trying to focus though the pain, Sam listened, and listened hard. </em>Sam. Sam. Sam<em>. It was his name, over and over again. Through no effort of his own, Sam began to shake, shoulders moving up and down, head lolling on his neck. His eyes, now seared shut, tried to peel open. It took him time, effort and a great deal of determination, but he did it. Flesh pulling, pained whimpers leaving his lips as whispers, Sam opened his eyes, and when he did, the burning stopped. He knew it would come back. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gasping, Sam opened his eyes to a white ceiling, no ice in sight. Terror ruling his actions, he shot up, distantly aware that someone fell back, away from him. Breathing heavily, still aching as if he really had been burning, Sam peered around the room, searching for flames, for icicles, for Lucifer himself. Nothing was there, and nobody. Nobody save for Missouri, sitting back in her chair with her palm splayed wide over her chest.</p>
<p>     “It’s true,” Sam whispered, turning his water-hazed eyes to Missouri. “Missouri, it’s true.”</p>
<p>     “What is?” Missouri asked, tone softer than Sam was used to. “Tell me, Boy.” Too busy staring at his own hands in horror, his own body, Sam didn’t reply. When fingers reached out, when a palm landed firmly on his shoulder, he jumped, gasping in a breath. Softly, Missouri said, “Sam?”</p>
<p>     “I am,” Unsure whether to laugh hysterically or cry hopelessly, Sam gulped, licked his dry, blood-stained lips. “I am Lucifer’s vessel.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, Boy,” Missouri’s tone softened again, almost as if she were trying to tame a wild animal. She didn’t move from her seat, an action for which Sam was glad, but she did rub at his shoulder gently, eyebrows furrowed in clear sympathy. “I’m so sorry. Did he just visit you? Was that the presence I felt?”</p>
<p>     Unable to speak, Sam just nodded. Still trying to get his breath under control, he stayed where he was, hunched over his own lap, legs splayed out before him. It took him some time before he could really focus on where he was.</p>
<p>     He was in a bed, thick grey sheets covering his body. Despite him being relatively tall and sitting in the near middle of the mattress, his feet weren’t sticking over the edge, though they were pressed hard into the frame. At the foot of the bed, from what he could see, was a hamper basket, lid propped up next to it, and a fair amount of clothes folded inside. Glancing up, he could see a slanted wooden roof above him. It was so low, he had to admit that it was a wonder he hadn’t smashed his head when he’d shot to sitting.</p>
<p>     Next to him, Missouri was sat in a wicker chair herself, one covered by what seemed to be a wolf-skin, wedged between a triangular wall made entirely of windows, boasting a balcony beyond them. Behind her seat, in front of the window, was a wicker table – Sam didn’t know who’s room he was in, but he knew they loved woven items, at least – and on it was a pitcher of water and a single glass. Grateful to see it, Sam reached a hand out, gesturing to it. To his surprise, Missouri brushed his hand away and poured him a glass herself. Normally not the sort of woman to cater to anyone’s every need, Sam wondered just how bad he had been screaming to worry her enough into such softness.</p>
<p>     Water pressed firmly into his hand by Missouri, Sam took a careful sip. It was heaven on his parched tongue, a miracle on his desert of a throat. Even his cracked, blood-flaked lips were beyond grateful for the gift of water.</p>
<p>     Once he’d drained the glass, something that happened quickly after his first cautious sip, Sam asked, “What happened? Loki was laughing. He wouldn’t stop.”</p>
<p>     “He wasn’t.” Missouri told him, eyebrows furrowing with something that resembled pity. Sam recoiled from it. Sighing softly, she explained, “After Loki told us you were Lucifer’s vessel, he did chuckle, I will admit—”</p>
<p>     A new voice cut in, startling Sam.</p>
<p>     “Bitterly. He wasn’t amused,” Lindsey was standing in the doorway, arms folded, though she raised her palms in a surrender at Missouri’s thin-lipped scowl. Ignoring the animosity between the two, Sam scanned her. There were no signs of Evan, and fear shot into his heart. Lindsey didn’t notice, instead saying, “You just kind of zoned out. Nobody could get through to you.” She shrugged, stepping forward into the room, her boots clumping on the wooden floor. Wincing, Sam made a mental note to teach her how to walk lightly, more silent than the dead. “So we brought you up here, laid you down. Then, of course, you started screaming—”</p>
<p>     “Having a nightmare,” Missouri cut in, sending a perturbed look Lindsey’s way. Seeing the two women still dancing around each-other like cats circling a box settled Sam just a little, though panic was setting in, without Evan in his sight. “I decided to wake you up. It was bad, Sam.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Lindsey agreed, nodding her shaggy-haired head. “You bit right through your lip. You have blood on your face.” Reaching up, Sam tried to wipe it off. He could feel the tightness of his skin that suggested where it was, could feel flakes of it under his hands as he rubbed, but he couldn’t know for certain if he had gotten it all. With a bit of a grin on her face, Lindsey came forward, plopping herself onto the edge of the bed and licking her thumb, before gesturing for Sam’s permission. At his hesitant nod, she pressed her thumb to his skin, scrubbed at his face. “You missed a bit. Just here.”</p>
<p>     “Thanks,” he nodded, barely noticing her. Eyes scanning the room again, he felt frustration bubbling up within him when he couldn’t see his son. “Where’s Evan?”</p>
<p>     “Oh, don’t worry about him,” Lindsey waved him away, causing Sam to grit his teeth. “I’ll go get him in a minute.”</p>
<p>     “He’s in a crib next door,” Missouri added, patting Sam’s hand. Glad for the woman, Sam sent her a thankful smile. “We can bring him in here in a minute. We didn’t want to disturb you while you were sleeping.”</p>
<p>     “Thanks,” Sam nodded, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Having got the sleep out, he threw the rumpled covers to the side and swung his jean-clad legs out of bed. “I’d like to see him.”</p>
<p>     “Right, yeah, of course,” Lindsey nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll just go get him.”</p>
<p>     With that, the blonde exited the room, leaving Sam to ask how long he had been out for. Finding out that he’d actually been sleeping for two days wasn’t a surprise to him. It certainly explained why, beyond the ache in his limbs and the dread in his heart, he felt like something had died in his mouth. What he desperately wanted was a shower, but unsure if he could achieve such a thing, if he could ever get truly clean again, he settled for pulling off his flannel and t-shirt, replacing them with clothes from the open hamper he’d spied.</p>
<p>     Behind him, Missouri shifted, a surprised sound echoing in the back of her throat. Remembering the scar on his back, the one that had come from a killing blow, Sam pulled his shirt down violently, hearing the material tear somewhere as he did. Spinning, he sent an awkward smile Missouri’s way, and was just about to say something to her, give some kind of explanation, when Lindsey returned, clomping along with Evan in her arms.</p>
<p>     Feeling blessed by the reprise, he turned to face the blonde.</p>
<p>     Before he knew it, his son was back in his reach. Pressing a kiss to Evan’s head, Sam breathed in his baby smell. He was clean, and seemed much calmer than he had in days. Pleased, Sam pulled back and traced his finger down the baby’s cheek instead, smiling when Evan’s eyes opened, still blue, but darker than they had once been.</p>
<p>     “Hey, Little Man,” Sam cooed at him, before glancing up at both women. “Is he hungry?”</p>
<p>     Lindsey shook her head.</p>
<p>     “What do you take us for?” Missouri asked at the same time, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing importantly. “We’ve been taking good care of that young man.”</p>
<p>     “Thank you,” Sam refocused his attention on Evan, smiling down at his son.</p>
<p>     With how unclean he felt in himself, Sam was surprised at how willing he was to still hold his son. Normally, when he felt dirty, he didn’t want to touch those he loved, didn’t want to taint them. But with Evan, a bond was crying out to him, telling him that he had to pick him up, had to care for him. Whether that was just his reaction as a father, or if that were something to do with the ritual spell he’d put in place between them, Sam didn’t know. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he’d do, if he didn’t have Evan to take care of, if he had pushed his son away by his own self-loathing.</p>
<p>     Shaking himself out of his whirlpool of thoughts, Sam turned his attention back to Missouri and Lindsey. They were leaving the room, whether to give him privacy or to lead him somewhere, Sam didn’t know. Whatever the case, he decided he would follow them. So, together, they left the bedroom Sam had woken up in, and set off into the warren of corridors beyond.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few hallways later, and Sam was feeling hopelessly lost. There was no way he’d be able to find his way back to the room he’d been in, not without help. Weirdly, both Missouri and Lindsey were acting like they hadn’t traipsed through six or seven identical corridors, all leading in different directions. In fact, they seemed as if they’d only been walking in a straight line. Briefly, Sam wondered if it was Loki’s magic, attacking his mind specifically due to the God’s dislike of him, or if it was simply because both women had made their way to his room multiple times in the two days he was out.</p>
<p>     Ignoring the thought – he shouldn’t be thinking uncharitable things about the god without proof – Sam blinked in surprise as the three of them stepped out into a large kitchen. Curiously, despite the very Viking-like theme to the rest of the house, the kitchen was large, clean and rustic. Wooden beams ran across the ceiling, at just the right height for them to brush over Sam’s hair as he walked through without hitting him on the head. It was just this side of annoying, the constant worry that he was about to walk into something, but there was very little to be done. This was Loki’s home, obviously made by a God for someone much smaller than Sam himself, at least vessel-wise… presuming Gods took vessels.</p>
<p>     Following Missouri and Lindsey’s leads, Sam pulled out a wicker barstool – seriously, what was with the wicker in this house? – and perched himself on it, Evan still tucked safely in his arms as he sat at the island.</p>
<p>     Surprisingly, a bottle was already being warmed, and Lindsey got up to finish preparing it and bring it back, allowing him the honour of testing the temperature himself. Satisfied that it wasn’t too hot, Sam let Evan drink as he peered around the kitchen, wondering what they were all doing there.</p>
<p>     “Well, well, well,” drawled a familiar voice, causing Sam to flinch just slightly. “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty himself? What can I do for you today, Sammy?”</p>
<p>     Hunching in on himself, Sam flicked his eyes up to meet the god’s in the doorways, before returning his attention to Evan. There was something about the fire in Loki’s eyes that disturbed him, made him feel as if his body was burning with the force of the god’s ire. It brought back terrible memories from his earlier dream-not-dream, and he bit back a startled cry.</p>
<p>     It was Missouri who spoke up, disapproval clear in her tone. Sam wondered if it was for him or for Loki, when she said, “He had a visit in his sleep.”</p>
<p>     “A visit?” Loki asked, sceptical brow raised. “I’m guessing you mean from my—” He cut himself off, leaving Sam to wonder what he had been about to say. In his arms, Evan squirmed, pulling Sam out of his train of thought as he readjusted the baby and listened to the god’s next words, “My enemy, Lucifer. In which case, I have to argue that you’re mistaken.”</p>
<p>     “Mistaken how?” Missouri’s voice had gone cold, clearly unhappy that she was being disagreed with. The corner of Sam’s lip ticked upwards.</p>
<p>     On the other side of Missouri, Sam saw Lindsey’s amused head-shake from the corner of his eye.</p>
<p>     “Because,” drawled the God, as if he were explaining simple concepts to particularly slow children, “If Sammo here had met <em>Lucifer</em>, he would already be<em> gone</em> by now. Bye-bye Sammy-boy, hello Archangel, if you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>     Both Missouri and Lindsey were giving Loki blank stares, so Sam cleared his throat, jumped in, “He means I’d have said ‘yes’.”</p>
<p>     “Would you have?” Lindsey asked, leaning forwards with her hands planted firmly on the varnished wood surface, peering around Missouri’s solid form. “Said ‘yes’, I mean?”</p>
<p>     Sam wanted to say ‘no’, offended tone in his voice and stubbornness in his jawline, but he couldn’t honestly say that, could he? He had been so close, so, so close, to saying ‘yes’ in his dream, only snapping out of it because Lucifer had worn <em>her</em> face, had tried to make him do something while dressed up as that traitorous demon. Sam wasn’t a saint. He knew that, if asked by Dean, Jessica, John, Hell, even Mary, he’d give in very quickly.</p>
<p>     Licking his lips, knowing shame was written into every line of his face, Sam admitted, “I almost did.”</p>
<p>     “But you didn’t?” Again, Loki’s brow was raised, though something like confusion danced with the fire in his eyes, flickering in and out and in again. Stepping further into the room, the god drew closer to the island, folded his arms and placed them on the surface, leaning forward to study Sam. Feeling like a bug under a microscope, Sam looked down at his son, drawing the now-empty bottle away from Evan’s milk-stained lips. Scrutinising him, Loki murmured, “That’s surprising.”</p>
<p>     Unsure how to respond – Loki hadn’t sounded angry or upset, though he hadn’t sounded <em>pleased</em>, either – Sam simply shrugged. Around Missouri, Lindsey reached out an arm to rub him gently on the back. Resisting the urge to shrug her off – it wasn’t <em>her</em> fault he felt so unclean – Sam let her comfort him, just a little.</p>
<p>     “But,” Loki began, sounding as if he were about to drop big, problematic news, if the glee in his voice was anything to go by. “Disappointing, too.”</p>
<p>     Opening his mouth, Sam was about to ask how what he had done was disappointing, when, to his surprise, a cell phone began to ring. The sound came from next to him, and within moments he was peering down at Missouri. On the other side of her, Lindsey was doing the same thing, the corners of her lips pulled down in confusion. Missouri, looking a little irritated, fished into the pocket of her cardigan and took out her cell.</p>
<p>     Looking at the screen, Missouri raised an eyebrow, then handed it to Sam.</p>
<p>     “It’s for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean clenched his teeth as his phone continued ringing. Honestly, couldn’t Missouri <em>answer</em>? Who he really needed was his brother, the geek, the research-head, but seeing as his phone had been destroyed, Missouri was the only other person he could think to contact. It wasn’t like he had Lindsey’s number, and in what reality would he have a Pagan god’s contact details?</p>
<p>     Finally, after a minute of continuous ringing, the call was picked up. In the background, Dean could hear the faint sound of a baby cooing, and he realised that it was probably Sam, bouncing the kid in his arms or something. Briefly, an image of Sam playing with his son, entirely different circumstances surrounding them, ran through his mind, but it disappeared quickly. There weren’t different circumstances, only these, and Sam’s son was a… a <em>thing</em>. Even if it really hadn’t reacted poorly to God’s name.</p>
<p>     “About time,” he bit out, wincing at his own tone when he remembered who he was phoning. Missouri had never been his biggest fan in the first place, and snapping at her was unlikely to change that. In a calmer tone, he added, “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>     “Um… yeah, yeah,” surprise coursed through Dean, his heart skipping a beat, leaving his whole system feeling thrown-off, like he was just a little bit too far to the left. That was his brother’s voice, rough as it sounded. Distantly, worry that Sam had been screaming brushed by, but he refused to reach out and truly touch that emotion. “What’s up, Dean?”</p>
<p>     Angry that he needed help in the first place, Dean spun around, running one frustrated hand through his hair. Facing the motel room he’d paid for, he could just about make out the angel through the window, standing and staring at the wall, just as he’d been when Dean left the room, and when Dean had come back to it earlier. Apparently, Cas was ‘thinking’, but Dean had yet to see proof of it.</p>
<p>     “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he muttered, dropping the hand gripping his hair down and rubbing it over his face. Psyching himself up – and it took some effort – he forced out, voice little more than a growl, “I need your help.”</p>
<p>     Silence met that statement.</p>
<p>     Finally, <em>finally</em>, Sam said, voice entirely blank, “You need my help?”</p>
<p>     “What, did you not hear me?” he snapped, hating every moment of the situation.</p>
<p>     Fear pierced him, sure that Sam was about to start mocking him. He’d mock him, then refuse to help, and more innocent people would die. He could <em>not</em> let that happen.   </p>
<p>     “No, no, I heard you,” Sam assured, voice strangely tight. That was the way his voice got when he was particularly stressed, the way his voice got when Dean would have tried to talk to him once upon a time, force himself through a chick-flick moment for his brother. No more. Dean was phoning for one reason, and one reason only. “I’m just… surprised, I guess. Why would you want <em>my</em> help, you know?”</p>
<p>     Dean squinted, peering out at the angel through his eyelashes. He still hadn’t moved.</p>
<p>     Ignoring Sam’s self-deprecating question – Dean did not have the time to coddle him and tell him that everything was alright, not when everything was decidedly<em> not</em> alright – he grit out, “Because you’re a research-geek,” licking his lips, he muttered, “And I’m not.”</p>
<p>     “You need research?” Sam asked, sounding weirdly hopeful. It was almost like Sam was planning to fix their relationship that way, and it kind of broke his heart. Not enough to persuade him to take the kid back, but at the same time… “I can do that.”</p>
<p>     Nodding, Dean shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket, keeping the other hand pressing his cell tightly to his ear. To Dean’s surprise, Cas chose that moment to turn around, leaving them meeting eyes through the glass. Narrowing his eyes at the angel, Dean gestured with his head for the guy to get out of the motel room. With Sam’s help, they’d get answers soon, even if Cas couldn’t get them himself. More importantly, it gave them time to actually head out and grab a meal, something Dean hadn’t had all day.</p>
<p>     “Dean…?” Sam sounded as if he’d spoken Dean’s name a few times already. “Are you there?”</p>
<p>     “Sorry, what?” Dean asked, shaking thoughts of mouth-watering burgers out of his mind.</p>
<p>     The apocalypse might be coming, he knew, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the finer things in life. Especially because he’d just spent forty years very definitely <em>not</em> getting to experience them.</p>
<p>     “It’s just…” caution was wound into every strand of Sam’s voice, leaving Dean wishing, just for a moment, that they could go back to old times. They couldn’t. Sam had very decidedly killed that notion. “I need you to describe what’s happening, Dean.”</p>
<p>     Feeling a little stupid for not immediately going into that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight, pinched the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>     “Right, right, yeah,” he nodded, taking his hand out of his pocket to hold up a finger to Castiel, stopping the angel from talking before he had even begun. Pausing to get his thoughts in order, Dean began, “Abraham Lincoln killed someone.”</p>
<p>     “What?” Sam’s voice had blanked again, sounding entirely devoid of anything, including belief. After a brief pause, he asked, “Can shifters even become dead people?”</p>
<p>     “That’s what I thought,” Dean admitted, grinning a little until he remembered who he was grinning with. His traitor of a brother. Sobering his tone, he continued, “But it’s not a shifter. It became a car. James Dean’s car.”</p>
<p>     “…That’s weird,” Sam said, sounding like he was mulling it over. “James Dean’s car and Abraham Lincoln, but not a shifter? I’ll see what I can—hang on a second.”</p>
<p>     Rolling his eyes, Dean turned around again, ignoring the angel waiting by his side. From the way Cas was looking at him, it seemed as if he wanted to tell Dean something, but he was on a phone call. He wasn’t going to be ringing Sam every couple of hours, waiting for news. If Sam could research anything, it would be now. Dean could talk to Cas (the angel who refused to leave his side for longer than a few hours) in a minute. He’d definitely still be there.</p>
<p>     Eventually, Cas resorted to standing really close to him, almost nose to nose with Dean, and pulling on Dean’s sleeve. Annoyed, he bit out a growl of a sound and pushed the angel back. In his frustration, he could distantly hear a familiar voice, one that had been full of rage the last time he had heard it, but now only held an undertone of mockery. Loki. So Sam was still with him. Dean shook his head, turning his attention to the angel who he’d shoved away.</p>
<p>     Well, the angel who had let him shove him away. Dean was under no illusions that he could move Cas if the angel didn’t want to be moved. Well, short of banishing him, that was.</p>
<p>     Clearing his throat, Sam caught Dean’s attention again. “Loki says—”</p>
<p>     “You’re still with <em>Loki</em>? Dean huffed, somewhat unfairly. In Sam’s defence, Dean was well aware that, if a god decided they were sticking with you, the god was sticking with you. Shoving his ungrateful feelings down, Dean sighed and massaged his brow. Sam remained silent, though Dean could sense the undercurrent of hurt in it. Taking a deep breath, wrinkling his nose against the smell of rubber-burnt asphalt and bins in the sun, Dean let out a soothing breath, then said, “What does Loki say?”</p>
<p>     “Loki thinks it might be a god,” Sam admitted, sounding regretful. “Leshi, if there were seeds in their stomachs.”</p>
<p>     Dean remained silent, not having checked the autopsies yet.</p>
<p>     At Dean’s continued silence, Sam added, “Loki says, if it is her, you should—”</p>
<p>     “Decapitate her,” Cas cut in, talking at the same time as Sam. Surprised, Dean turned to the angel with raised eyebrows. Somewhat sheepishly, if Dean was reading his body-language right, Cas stared back. “I believe it is the pagan god, Leshi. I could smell seeds in their stomachs, when I went to the autopsy.”</p>
<p>     “Great,” Dean groaned, wondering why the angel couldn’t have told him sooner. Into the phone he said, “Got it, thanks.”</p>
<p>     Taking his cell from his ear, he slid the bar across, then turned back to Cas. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier, save me from calling Sam?”</p>
<p>     “I believe you and your brother need to talk,” Cas decided, as if he had any sort of right.</p>
<p>     Making a disgusted noise, Dean shook his head and turned away. Slipping his phone into his pocket, feeling nervous that they were facing a god and entirely off-kilter from having spoken to his brother, Dean headed out of the parking lot.</p>
<p>     Hoping the weird feelings of the day would slide off him as he ate, Dean headed towards the nearest burger bar, grinding his teeth all the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peering down at the phone in his hand, the dial-tone beeping loudly for all to hear, Sam felt his heart sink. He’d hoped that by helping Dean out, he could begin to fix their relationship, but evidently there was no real avenue there.</p>
<p>     Sighing, he turned Missouri’s cell off, then handed it back to her. With firm fingers, she squeezed his hand with one of her own, using the other to slide the cell back into her pocket.</p>
<p>     Resting his head in his hands, Sam planted his elbows on the kitchen island. On the other side of Missouri, Lindsey was bouncing Evan, who had begun to whimper. Sam guessed it was true what they said: that babies could sense the emotion in the room. It was probably even more true of Evan, what with his powers.</p>
<p>     “Well, that was depressing,” Loki broke into his wallowing, sounding far too upbeat. It only served to deflate him even more, and Sam jammed the tips of his fingers into his eyes, rubbing harshly. Kaleidoscopes painted patterns on the insides of his lids, but they couldn’t help shove away the still-lingering feeling of burning, nor the ever-aching feeling of guilt he carried. “But now what we need to speak about is your saying ‘yes’.”</p>
<p>     Gritting his teeth, Sam peeked through his fingers at Loki. Raising a brow, though it remained hidden behind his hands, he waited for the god’s explanation.</p>
<p>     “Say it,” Loki shrugged, appearing nonchalant. So much so, in fact, that he was inspecting his nails. Along the line, Lindsey let out a displeased growl, though Sam knew she didn’t understand quite what was being asked of him. Missouri, when Sam glanced at her, was thin-lipped and stony-faced, displeasure tight in the line of her shoulders. “Play your part.”</p>
<p>     If there was one thing Sam did not want to do, it was that. Clearly reading it in Sam’s mind, Loki grinned at him, his smile becoming falling from his face, his expression becoming stony, more serious than Sam had ever seen it before.  </p>
<p>     “There isn’t any other course of action now.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Loki thinks that Sam should play his part in the apocalypse, but Sam is determined that isn't going to happen. Still, can he persuade the god about that?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! I know I said I'd only update on Saturdays, and today is Friday, but I'm actually moving tomorrow, so I won't have time to get this up, as I'll only have arrived in the city by six o'clock in the evening, providing the ferries run on time. :) </p>
<p>I hope this chapter is enjoyable. I worry that it seems more like a filler than anything, but it's better than nothing, I guess...? </p>
<p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to comment, if you wish. And thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos already. Enjoy... :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Ten</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone sat staring at Loki. Sam himself was left blinking, a frown pulling the corners of his lips down. How, exactly, was playing his role going to help the situation?</p>
<p>     To his relief, Missouri was shaking her head next to him, a true scowl marring her expression. Sam hadn’t ever seen her look so angry, but then again, he’d not actually spent that much time around her. Still, it was enough to make even Loki twitchy, apparently, because there he stood across the island from them, shifting from foot to foot, very determinedly not meeting Missouri’s eyes.</p>
<p>     In the final seat, Lindsey was holding Evan in one arm, running her other hand through her hair. It was obvious that she didn’t know what was being talked about, but to Sam’s surprise, her chest was puffed up with indignation all the same, and her lowered brows and narrowed eyes suggested she was ready to stand up against the god’s decisions as well. He had to wonder if that was because she actually thought, from what little she’d gathered, that Sam playing his part was a bad idea, of if she was just being contrary, as she was so often wont to do.</p>
<p>     “I can’t,” Sam finally admitted, unable to meet Loki’s gaze. “I can’t damn everyone like that.”</p>
<p>     “Haven’t you already?” Loki asked, almost casually. Sam had to admit he had a point. After all, wasn’t Sam the one to break the final seal in the first place? Wasn’t Sam the one who had let Lucifer out of the box? “What’s one more time?”</p>
<p>     “Surely this can still be fixed?” Lindsey asked, a waver in her voice. It seemed that the seriousness of the situation was finally hitting home for her. “Surely there’s a way to put—” she broke off, snorted in disbelief, “—Lucifer back in Hell.”</p>
<p>     “If there was a way, don’t you think someone would have done it?” Loki snapped, hooking his foot around the bottom of a barstool and slumping down on it. “Not all of us—” he narrowed his eyes at Sam, leaning forward to rest on his elbows. “—want to see the world burn.”</p>
<p>     “Not any of us,” Missouri pointed out, pointing a stern finger at the god. “Sam here is a good boy. He just lost his way a little, that’s all.”</p>
<p>     Sam wanted to thank Missouri for her support, but at the same time he knew she shouldn’t have given it. Just as Loki pointed out to Missouri, Sam agreed that it had been a Hell of a way to lose his way. Loki had every right to be furious. He might have been a god, but he still lived on their world, still had to eke a life out like the rest of them, and Sam knew that an apocalypse wouldn’t help him in the slightest. With fewer people in the world, if any, Loki would begin to starve, and would fade away like the rest of the gods no longer worshipped.</p>
<p>     “You ought to be nicer to him,” Lindsey piped up, making Sam wince. Telling a god what to do was never a good idea, and while Missouri had the presence to make even Loki nervous, Lindsey still came across as a frightened, confused human. Her weaknesses would be obvious to something like Loki. “At least Sam is <em>trying </em>to make things better. What are you doing, beyond nurturing a defeatist attitude?”</p>
<p>     “Big words, Townsend,” Loki shot back, anger sparking behind his eyes. The blonde’s eyes widened, her mouth falling slack with surprise. She hadn’t told Loki her name, Sam knew. He felt his stomach sinking, and resisted the urge to reach out and take Evan back. The fact that Lindsey was holding him was probably the only thing that had stopped her from suffering Loki’s wrath. That, or Loki was better at self-restraint than Sam had given him credit for, he supposed. “But do you even know what we’re talking about? This is the <em>apocalypse</em>. It’s not going to have some easy-fix like a TV show has, it’s not going to be over just like that.” He took one fist out from under his chin, snapping his fingers in emphasis. “Anyone who tries to stop the apocalypse is going to die. It’s God’s plan, after all.”</p>
<p>     “You didn’t tell me he could read minds!” Lindsey exclaimed, blocking out Loki’s entire speech save for the first part. The blonde shot an accusing look at Missouri. “Seems like the sort of thing you should mention!”</p>
<p>     “Girl, did you honestly think he couldn’t?” Missouri asked, pressing her lips together tightly. With a disappointed head-shake, the psychic turned back towards Loki, a considering expression on her face. “Now, Loki, tell me more about God’s plan.”</p>
<p>     Looking between the two, Sam saw that Missouri had an odd expression on her face. It was almost knowing, though Sam didn’t know <em>what</em> the woman knew. Perhaps, despite Loki being a god, she could still get flashes of his thoughts here and there. Perhaps Loki wasn’t telling them everything. That wouldn’t surprise Sam.</p>
<p>     Sam was just about to consider that when Lindsey broke in, saying, “God’s plan? How do you know so much about it, being a Pagan?”</p>
<p>     Panic flickered across Loki’s features, so fast that Sam thought he had imagined it. By the time he spoke, his expression was his usual annoyed amusement, carefully controlled.</p>
<p>     “Every god knows God’s plan,” Loki pointed out, shaking his head. Taking his fists out from under his chin, the Pagan folded his arms, leaning them on the counter. “The angels have been a pain in the backside for centuries.” At that, Sam whipped his head up to meet Loki’s gaze. Distaste curled Loki’s lip, but he didn’t say anything particularly scathing in that moment. No, instead, he cocked his head to the side, studying Sam with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t think the angels had only just come out of Heaven <em>now</em>, did you?”</p>
<p>     “How come no hunter has ever heard of them, then?” Sam asked, surprising himself with how desperate he sounded. Hadn’t he spent ages praying to these creatures, only to find they hated him, had probably laughed every time they heard his prayers? Hadn’t he wished so ardently for some proof that God was out there, that God cared? Loki sent him a somewhat pitying look, and Sam clenched his teeth against it. “Stay out of my head.”</p>
<p>     “I’d stay out if you didn’t make it so easy to get in,” Loki informed him, smirking. “All that demon blood really scrambled your psychic system, Sammy-boy. The only way to truly fix it would be to purge the blood entirely. Nobody knows how to do that, though, so I guess you’ll always be easy to read.”</p>
<p>     “Thanks.”</p>
<p>     “Anytime,” Loki gave a little wave, a falsely blithe grin sent Sam’s way.</p>
<p>     Sam sighed, realising belatedly that Loki had completely blocked his question. Reaching around Missouri for Evan, he took his son into his arms. Holding him close, he relaxed into the comfort the baby brought, stroking his enormous palm over Evan’s downy head. When the sleeping baby opened his eyes, Sam thought they looked a little darker than they had before, no longer the bright, beautiful blue they had first been, but a duller, darker colour.</p>
<p>     Sighing, Sam frowned down at Evan, opened his mouth and pointed out, “You didn’t answer my question.”</p>
<p>     “What question was that?” Loki had an air of innocence about him, his raised eyebrows and encouraging expression enticing Sam to speak. Only the fury behind his eyes gave Sam pause. “Come on, Sammy. Don’t be shy.”</p>
<p>     “He <em>asked</em>,” Lindsey had clearly had enough, her voice coming out rough and growly, bit out from behind gritted teeth. “How come no hunter has heard of angels, if they don’t just hide away in Heaven?”</p>
<p>     “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” The fury had died down in Loki’s eyes, an expression of confusion morphing all the features on his face into a blank mask. This time, Sam could tell the god was being completely genuine, truly bewildered by the fact that the three people sitting before him didn’t know the answer. “Angels are brutal. Nobody who’s tried to hunt them before has been left alive.”</p>
<p>     “But—” Sam began, biting his words off quickly. He didn’t want to come across as psychopathic, but it had to be said. He sighed, continuing with, “But angels <em>aren’t</em> that difficult to kill.”</p>
<p>     “If that’s the case,” Lindsey broke in, a hopeful smile stretching the corners of her lips upwards. “Surely it won’t be that difficult to kill Lucifer?”</p>
<p>     “He’s an archangel, Girl,” Missouri informed her, tired lines crinkling around her eyes, the corners of her lips.</p>
<p>     “Whole different kettle of fish,” Loki agreed, shaking his head somewhat morosely. Sam figured the expression would have been more convincing if the god had bothered to wipe that ever-present smirk from his features beforehand. “Archangels can only be killed by other archangels.”</p>
<p>     “So get another archangel to kill him.” Lindsey suggested, spreading her hands wide. She squinted at everyone’s faces, as if she were peering at idiots. Resisting the urge to sigh, Sam shook his head.</p>
<p>     “Besides the fact that one of them <em>is</em> trying to kill him, which is the problem,” he pointed out, leaning as far forward as he could on the island without squishing his son. “None of the others would work with us.”</p>
<p>     “As much as I hate to admit it,” Loki broke in, a pained expression on his face. Sam wondered if it really was having to agree with him, the abomination, that put it here, or if it was because of something else. If it were, he would never know. He couldn’t read minds, after all. “Sammy here is right. Raphael is too much of a goody-two-shoes to do anything but what Daddy wants, and Gabriel is…” he resettled his shoulders, steeling himself for something. “Gabriel is dead.”</p>
<p>     Silence fell between the occupants of the room at that. Nobody knew quite what to say, Sam suspected. To find out that Gabriel was dead meant that another of the archangels had to have killed him, from what Loki had just explained to them. However, the fight between Michael and Lucifer was supposed to be apocalyptic, so how could that be? Sure, even if Lucifer and Michael were the two strongest archangels out there, surely the death of another would have been at least noticeable?</p>
<p>     Shrugging it off, Sam put his mind to other things. With Evan cooing in his arms, he wondered how they were possibly going to get Loki onto their side. He seemed to want to protect Sam’s son, he knew, but beyond that, Sam had no idea. A Pagan god wasn’t a mindset he often found himself getting into, if ever. Still, he had to try.</p>
<p>     “We have to find a way,” Sam announced, straightening his back. He set his jaw, stubbornness lining every one of his muscles. There would be no arguing with him, not on this. “Nobody deserves to die because of my mistakes.”</p>
<p>     “Interesting take,” Loki mused, pointing a finger gun at him. “How are you planning it? We just established that the only way to accomplish it won’t work.” The god sent a sparking grin towards Lindsey, mischief and triumph fighting for dominance on his face. “And who said anything about <em>everyone</em> trying to stop it? I’m sure your friend here would like to go home.”</p>
<p>     Blinking, Sam found himself taken aback. Leaning around Missouri, he peered at Lindsey, mouth hanging open just slightly. Missouri reached up, gently closing his mouth for him, then patted his jaw softly. Sparing her a glance, he saw she was giving him a pitying look. It only lasted for a few moments, however, before an expression of pure surprise splayed itself across her face, raising her eyebrows and parting her own shocked-dumb lips.</p>
<p>     “You have no idea what you’re thinking, Girl!” Missouri exclaimed, whirling around in her seat to face the blonde. “You have no idea what sort of danger you’re going to get yourself mixed up in!”</p>
<p>     Horror sank stones in Sam’s stomach. “Lindsey…”</p>
<p>     “Don’t say anything,” she whipped a finger towards Sam, holding it up and managing to stick Sam’s voice in his throat. With a scowl on her face, she eyed the scratched wooden surface of the island, licked her lips and began picking at splinters. When she was ready, she finally admitted, “I don’t have anyone.”</p>
<p>     Glancing across the table briefly at Loki, Sam tried to work out if he was the only one who didn’t know what was going on in the woman’s head. Unfortunately for him, Loki and Missouri only looked pitying, understanding even, rather than confused.</p>
<p>     Looking up, Lindsey’s eyes caught on Sam’s expression and she explained, “There’s no-one to miss me, and no-one for me to miss. It’s been… wild, being with you guys, to say the least. But… You’re my friend, Sam, even if I did force it on you, and I don’t want to leave you to this mess alone.”</p>
<p>     “I made this mess,” he pointed out, dropping his focus to where his fingers were tucking Evan’s blanket tighter around the sleeping bundle. He couldn’t meet her eyes, could barely swallow around the lump in his throat. “I ought to be the one to fix it.”</p>
<p>     “Sure,” Lindsey shrugged, propping one elbow on the surface before her. Fingers curling into her hair, she ducked her head, made sure Sam met her eyes. “And you are, aren’t you? Even if you’re struggling right now.” He shrugged, not sure how else to respond. “But Sam… Nobody can do anything alone. Not really.”</p>
<p>     Licking his lips, Sam prepared himself to thank the woman. Searching for words, he found that none came to him. They stuck in his throat, making the lump bigger, unable to escape around it. Closing his eyes, he strained himself trying to will the words out, but still they clung in his chest, almost suffocating him. The corners of his eyes pricked. He closed them before the tears could escape. Why was it Lindsey always said the things Sam wished Dean had said to him?</p>
<p>     Loki chose that moment to cut in.</p>
<p>     “Well,” he shrugged, leaning back far enough that Sam was sure he was going to fall. With his hands folded behind his head, he looked the very essence of comfortably relaxed, even leaning on the air as he was. “<em>You guys</em> are going to be alone.”</p>
<p>     “And I suppose you’re not going to help us,” Missouri wasn’t really asking. A purse tightened her lips. From the up-and-down look she dragged across the god, Sam could see she was incredibly unimpressed by him. Somewhere deep down, Sam wished he could look at Loki in the same way she did. “Typical.”</p>
<p>     “If he’s not helping,” Lindsey turned her question to Missouri, surprising Sam. He was certain they still weren’t getting along. “Then what is he doing? Seeing as he refuses to leave our side?”</p>
<p>     “Watching,” Loki admitted, entirely blasé. Then, he straightened up enough that a more serious air fell about him, like a cloak settling around his shoulders. “Looking after Evan.” At that, he leaned forward over the island, waggling his fingers in Evan’s face. Sam barely resisted the urge to snatch his son away from the god, keeping him in place only because Evan was settled, cracking one sleepy eye open to watch the god’s fingers, before closing it again in obvious disinterest. Falling back onto his stool, Loki added, “Making sure you numbskulls don’t die in the process of working out that the only way forward is to <em>play your parts</em>.”</p>
<p>     Sam felt himself smiling at that, for some strange reason. Perhaps it was because Loki had pretty much confessed that he wasn’t going to stop them from trying, at the very least. Perhaps it was because Loki had had the audacity to call Missouri, of all people, a numbskull. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was because he, too, had been included in the trio, without it being pointed out that he was the worst of them by far.</p>
<p>     Ignoring the looks both Loki and Missouri flashed him at that thought – Missouri’s quiet sympathy and Loki’s odd narrow-eyed considering looks were both irritating in their own ways – Sam handed the baby over to Missouri. Sliding from his seat, he palmed the empty bottle and deposited it in the sink, before heading over to the fridge to see if there was any food.</p>
<p>     He hadn’t eaten for a while, and if he was going to be doing research on how to stop the apocalypse, he was going to need his strength. It was going to be a long, arduous task, after all. They were all going to need their strength.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hours later, Sam found himself hunched at a cluttered desk – cluttered only by his own research and scribbled-out papers – a laptop open and burning bright in his eyes, and sore back muscles making themselves known with what amounted to screams in his head. In one hand, he span a pencil across his knuckles, tapping it intermittently against the crumpled paper he had been using. His other hand was occupied with rocking Evan in a baby chair that Loki had conjured earlier, before declaring them all boring and wandering off.</p>
<p>     He’d been back quickly, eyes only for Evan, though sometimes he’d flick them towards Sam in a studying manner, a searching manner. It was like he was trying to see through Sam’s soul, right down to the evil dwelling within. Every time he did it, Sam would snap quietly in his head about it, or just under his breath, a muffled growl, and Loki would stop. Still, it happened again and again and again.</p>
<p>     Finally, after the seventh time it had happened, Sam slammed the pencil he was holding down, wincing when Evan let out a chocked hiccough, and whirled to face Loki.</p>
<p>     “<em>What</em>?” he demanded, scowling at the god.</p>
<p>     A grin stretched its way across the god’s face, his eyes sparkling brightly, though not warmly.</p>
<p>     “Nothing.”</p>
<p>     With that, the god walked out. Blinking after him, Sam sighed and closed his eyes, before turning back to his research. There seemed to be nothing to find, and he rubbed his temples roughly, wishing he could find even a hint of an answer.</p>
<p>     A gentle clunk brought him out of his research – or lack thereof – and right back into the moment.</p>
<p>     “You need a break,” Missouri told him, hand resting on one shoulder. Using her free hand, she nudged a plate closer to him. On it sat a sandwich. Nothing special, just ham, but it was still amazing to see. His stomach let out a rumble in gratitude. “Go sit at the table. I’ll take over here. You eat. Take Evan.”</p>
<p>     “Yes, Ma’am,” Sam sent a tired smile her way, knowing that it didn’t reach his eyes but finding himself unable to care right then. “I’ll bring you coffee.”</p>
<p>     Turning a stern eye on him, Missouri shooed him away, taking his seat when he vacated it. Pausing to extract Evan from his seat, Sam headed back towards the kitchen, still finding the corridors to be a complete warren. In his arms, Evan wiggled, clearly disagreeing about Loki’s weird layout of his house.</p>
<p>     Eventually, to Sam’s relief and disappointment both, he stumbled across the god, sitting in a little room by himself. It was tiny, filled with plants and wicker furniture, but it was beautiful nonetheless, like a conservatory but without the glass walls. Looking up, Sam did see that the ceiling was completely transparent, raindrops falling down onto it and running off, rivers careening over the glass.</p>
<p>     “Oh, it’s you,” the god was peeking out from around what appeared to be a small oak tree, still sitting in a pot. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>     “I was trying to find the kitchen,” he admitted, stepping deeper into the room with caution. He didn’t want to intrude on the god’s private area, after all. “Or my room.” At the god’s questioning look, Sam hefted Evan a little higher, wishing he had a second arm to hold his son with. The ham sandwich was still uneaten, plate clutched in his other hand, as he’d still yet to find anywhere to pause. “Evan needs changing. And feeding.”</p>
<p>     Loki didn’t say anything, but he did gesture with his chin that Sam could enter further into the room. To his surprise and dismay, the plants appeared to shrink away from him as he walked further in, like they couldn’t bare to be photosynthesising in the same light, the same air, that he passed through.</p>
<p>     Shaking it off, he rounded the table Loki sat at and placed his plate down. With a snap of his fingers, Loki had a mat lying on the table, along with the supplies Sam would need to change Evan. Grateful, Sam sent a small smile Loki’s way, ignoring the stony faced expression he got in return. Sitting, he set to work, glad that Loki had the wherewithal to snap the waste away afterwards.</p>
<p>     Much more comfortable, Evan stopped whining and writhing, settling back into Sam’s arms. No longer jostled by his son, Sam picked up his sandwich and bit into it, the flavour spreading across his hungry tongue like ambrosia. He relaxed into the silence.</p>
<p>     He almost choked when Loki’s voice shocked him out of it.</p>
<p>     “Surprisingly,” the god informed him, head cocked to the side. “You’re good with him.”</p>
<p>     Sam said nothing to that; he had nothing to say.</p>
<p>     “The house doesn’t like you,” Loki added, completely out of the blue. Swallowing with some difficulty, Sam managed to raise a brow at the god through his watering eyes. To top off Sam’s startlement, Loki snapped up a bottle between them. “That’s why you can’t get anywhere.”</p>
<p>     “The house?” Sam asked, scooping the bottle up.</p>
<p>     It took some contorting to get the bottle close enough to a wrist for him to test the temperature, but when he finally could, it surprised him to learn that Loki had ensured the milk was drinkable. Placing the teat to Evan’s lips, Sam let him suckle greedily, his own attention back on Loki.</p>
<p>     “It’s somewhat sentient,” Loki grinned cheekily, eyes fixed on Sam’s son. Across the table, he stuck his thumbs in his ears and blew a raspberry at Evan, who ignored him entirely, before turning his much more sombre, much more distasteful expression, back towards Sam. “It doesn’t like your blood. It’s not me.”</p>
<p>     “I… didn’t say it was you,” he pointed out. At no point had he accused Loki, at least not to the god’s face, nor even in his vicinity, though to find out the house was partially aware was horrifying, to say the least. Thinking of the inconvenience and nothing else, Sam asked, “Is there nothing you can do? I promised Missouri a coffee, but…”</p>
<p>     Breaking off, he shrugged helplessly. He’d never find his way to the kitchen, let alone <em>back </em>again, at the rate he was going.</p>
<p>     A snap of Loki’s fingers drew his attention. Questions glittering in his eyes, he studied the god, trying to work out what had happened.</p>
<p>     After a few moments of that, Loki clearly took pity on him, confessing, “I sent Missouri coffee.”</p>
<p>     It wasn’t quite what Sam had been looking for, but it would do. Getting the beverage to her in some way was better than not getting it there, especially after he’d promised her, and especially after he had seen the tiredness clouding her eyes, tightening the skin around her lips.</p>
<p>     Grateful to the god, Sam decided he would try one last question, one last hope.</p>
<p>     “Is there really no way you’re willing to help us?” he asked, setting the empty bottle back on the wicker-work surface and moving Evan to burp him. Task accomplished, he resettled his son in his arms, adding, “I’m not asking for you to fight Lucifer, I’m just asking if you know of anything. Anything at all.”</p>
<p>     A deep sigh escaped the god’s mouth. Closing his amber eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as he did so.</p>
<p>     When he looked up, he muttered something under his breath, some argument against the action he was about to take, before admitting, “I know of a library that might help you.”</p>
<p>     “Can you take us?”</p>
<p>     Tipping his head back, Loki groaned under his breath. Sam could see he was fighting with himself internally, not wanting to help but, for whatever reason, finding himself unable to say no. It worked to Sam’s benefit, but it confused him still.</p>
<p>     “Fine,” Loki concluded, sounding displeased with himself. “Fine, I’ll take you. Round up your buddies first. You can all go.”</p>
<p>     “I can’t get through the corridors,” Sam reminded him, shifting in his seat.</p>
<p>     He wasn’t sure if reminding Loki of that fact would be a good idea or not.</p>
<p>     Evidently it was not, as the god trilled, “Not my problem.”</p>
<p>     Without further ado, he stood up, sweeping past Sam in a gust of air. The fresh scent of the plants in the room washed over him, along with the scent of burning, of lightning strikes and ancient forests and damp caves. It was the awesome and horrifying scent of the wild, and it rolled off Loki in waves, once one had got close enough to him. Surprised at it, Sam was left staring after the god as he exited the room, the plants all swaying towards him as he went.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hours later, and Sam, Lindsey and Missouri were all standing in an underground library, Evan in his seat at Sam’s side, Loki standing behind them with extreme irritation spread wickedly across his features. The only comfort Sam took from the god’s expression was that it wasn’t aimed at him this time, but rather at Loki’s own willingness to help them.</p>
<p>     Shaking that thought off, he returned his mind to the matter at hand: the inspection of the library. It was small, some sort of corrugated bunker, and covered in dust. Books lay strewn around, some still open at the desk, as if the place had been abandoned in a hurry. The scent of decay mouldered in the air, but there was a fresher scent too, one that worried Sam somewhat.</p>
<p>     Placing Evan gently down by Loki, sending a worried look between the two, a silent plea for the god to keep an eye on his son, Sam inched closer to the table. Something about it seemed off, he just couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Behind him, Lindsey peeked around his hulking form, frowning down at the desk.</p>
<p>     Carefully, she reached out her index, smudged it down the book lying open in place, then down the table itself. What was wrong struck them at the same time.</p>
<p>     “Someone’s been here,” Sam informed the room, causing Missouri’s eyes to widen in concern. Loki tilted his head, narrowing his eyes and fixing them on Sam. Next to him, Lindsey held up her dust covered index, running her clean finger over the pages of the open book and holding that up for inspection. Understanding dawned on Loki’s features, and he picked up Evan in a movement that seemed, to Sam, almost reflexive. “Recently.”</p>
<p>     The sound of a door swinging open shocked Sam. He spun, whipping around to see just where the sound was coming from.</p>
<p>     On the other side of the bunker, a small door was set into the wall. Through it, Sam could see three figures, crowding each other, nudging and pushing to be the first to tumble into the room. It was in that instant that his heart went cold, his breathing picking up. From the sound of Missouri stepping closer to Loki, of her telling him to take them away, she had picked up on who they were from Sam’s mind. Lindsey, he knew, would recognise them too.</p>
<p>     Stumbling footsteps sounded behind him, Lindsey staggering back towards the god that had transported them there, the god that had assured them that the place was safe and unknown to most hunters. Sam felt like screaming, rounding on the god and demanding to know just what he thought he was doing. He didn’t do that.</p>
<p>     Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing over receipts and crumpled balls of paper before closing on the handle of his sheathed blade. With steady fingers, he pulled the knife out from his inner pocket, sliding the wicked blade into the light and holding it before him. Carefully, he moved backwards, keeping his eyes on the figures who had finally made their way out of the door.</p>
<p>     Across the table, Steve, Tim and Reggie met his eyes.</p>
<p>     Fury darkened their features, crumpling their faces into twisted grimaces. When their fury had flicked over Sam, their leer had brushed over Lindsey, they finally settled their sights on the one person Sam hadn’t wanted them to find, not ever again: Evan.</p>
<p>     Still backing away, Sam pointed his blade at them, warning them not to come any closer.</p>
<p>     “Why shouldn’t we?” Tim asked, rounding the table with a casual swing to his step. He seemed almost jubilant, and Sam supposed it fit. Why wouldn’t he be, having found the creature he had been hunting? “It’s us three, seasoned hunters, against one junkie, one bartender bitch, one old lady and some… adult child.”</p>
<p>     For a split second, Sam wondered who they meant, before he threw his gaze over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Loki sucking on a lollipop, giving a cheery wave to the trio. Resisting the urge to groan in frustration, he turned back to their ambushers.</p>
<p>     “I’m still a hunter,” Sam pointed out, stalling for time as he continued to move backwards. His heart was in his throat, worry for Evan freezing every vein. He was surprised his fear for his son couldn’t be <em>smelled</em> on him, so strong it had to have been. Jaw flexing, he grit out, “I’ll kill you, if you hurt him.”</p>
<p>     “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Steve drawled, following Tim’s lead and moving around the table, though this time in the opposite direction. They were trapping them. Slowly, Sam backed up again, fingers of his spare hand crossed, hoping someone would grab the back of his shirt, would allow him to travel with the rest of the group. “You don’t stand a chance against all three of us.”</p>
<p>     “No?” Sam asked, cocking his head to the side. Finally, finally, fingers closed into the back of his shirt, twisting into it so tightly that the buttons at the front strained somewhat. Glad to be in safe hands, relieved that they were almost away, almost gone, Sam taunted, “I took out two of you before. What’s one more?”</p>
<p>     At that, Sam felt the slight lurching jolt he always felt when Loki flew them anywhere, that hitch as if reality were reshaping itself around him, that feeling jerking in his chest, his stomach, that promised him they were about to leave, to go.</p>
<p>     Unable to prevent his half-smile of relief, Sam almost missed it when Tim and Reggie lunged forwards, almost missed it when fingers closed around his arm holding the knife, digging in and refusing to let go. He tried to shake them, tried to dislodge them as he found himself becoming the rope in a tug-of-war between two hunters and a small blonde woman.</p>
<p>     Then, to his horror, he felt as Lindsey’s fingers were wrenched away from his shirt, heard the echoing cries of his name as the four of them flew away, and then he felt the agony tearing at his insides.</p>
<p>     It was like a whip, lashing constantly, lacerating his very soul. It was like a hole had been ripped in him at his most fundamental layer. It was like he was caught on the cusp of death, needing one thing and one thing only to survive, but unable to access it, unable to have it. A scream built up within him, punching its way out of his body without his say so, without any effort on his part.</p>
<p>     Blackness fell over him immediately. He felt as he lost all control over his muscles, felt as the knife was knocked from his grip. Distantly, he heard it clatter on the floor, wondered if it had sliced him on the way down, or if the tears in his skin he could feel were from the pain of the bond, stretched taught, to breaking, ready to snap if he didn’t get Evan back soon.</p>
<p>     Unable to focus on anything but that, Sam let himself smash heavily to the floor. Hunters yelled around him, Tim, Reggie and Steve unsure what was happening, and furious they had lost their true quarry, but Sam didn’t care about that. No, he didn’t care about anything but screaming and writhing and begging, begging, <em>begging</em> for Evan to come back. He would beg until his throat was raw. He would beg until his throat bled. He would beg until his vocal chords were worn through, a bloody, ragged mess in his throat. He would beg even beyond then.</p>
<p>     Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever could matter. So to the screaming, Sam was lost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam was torn away from Evan, leaving the soul-bond stretched too far. A rescue mission has to be carried out. Meanwhile, Dean is trying to come to terms with what he has to do on his next hunt. He just can't reconcile himself with the idea.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p><p>I hope you like this chapter. Sorry to leave it on a cliff-hanger like that! </p><p>Just a quick note, in the first part of this chapter, there is a somewhat detailed description of a body freshly killed by a gunshot wound. If that is something that upsets you, then I'd suggest skipping the paragraph immediately after the sentence 'Tentatively, Lindsey turned'. It's a short paragraph, and a short description of the body, but I just thought I'd warn you all to be on the safe-side. :) </p><p>Anyway, other than that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please feel free to leave a comment, and thank you to all those of you who have left comments and kudos so far. You're amazing! Enjoy... :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Eleven</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Horror coursed through Lindsey even as they reappeared in Loki’s house in the pocket dimension. Her fist was still clenched tightly, fingers wrapped around nothing, her own ragged nails digging into her palm. Eyes wide, breath caught in her throat and held captive with no possibility of escape, she stumbled forwards, shoving down the desire to vomit in terror. Knees weak, limbs trembling, Lindsey turned to face Loki and Missouri, vision already watery.</p><p>     In his arms, Loki was clutching the squalling infant, tiny limbs flying, writhing. Baby fingers were clutching at nothing, desperately trying to find their father’s own fingers. A set of lungs that should have been too small for the noise they were producing wailed, siren-like, insistent and unstoppable. Without even stopping to think about it, Lindsey staggered forwards, wrenching Evan out of Loki’s grip and beginning to shush him.</p><p>     “Give him back to me,” Loki grit out, reaching out to take him. Instinctively, Lindsey stepped back, pressing Sam’s screaming son against her chest. “I can’t take him back unless you give him back to me.”</p><p>     “Take me, too,” Lindsey demanded, knowing even as she was saying it that it was a stupid suggestion. Still, she had to say it. There was no way she was going to leave her friend behind. Turning beseeching eyes on Missouri, she begged the woman to side with her. Missouri shook her head. Her stony face told Lindsey that she thought the men were too dangerous for Lindsey to be there to face them. Giving up, she turned back to Loki, informing him, “If you want to take Evan back to Sam, you’ll have to take me, too.”</p><p>     “Lindsey—” Loki growled, teeth gritted so hard his jaw was straining with the action. Lindsey didn’t care. She <em>had</em> to go and get Sam. It was her fault he had been left behind, after all. It had been her fingers that had lost their grip on his worn check shirt.</p><p>     “I’m coming,” she barely resisted the urge to stomp her foot, instead raising her chin in as imperious a manner as she could. With the way she was trembling, panic fluttering her heart, churning her stomach, she didn’t think it looked as impressive as she had hoped. Certainly, Loki wasn’t cowed by her. But then, Loki was a<em> god</em>. “If you’re going to rescue Sam, them I’m going.”</p><p>     “We don’t have time for this!” Loki exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. After what felt like hours of staring, but what could only have been a few seconds, Loki gave up, shook his head in exasperation. “If this goes wrong, it’s on you.” He jabbed a finger at her, before stepping closer. Hand clamping down on her shoulder, he spoke over the increasing volume of Evan’s screeches, somehow sounding clear and commanding, even through the intensity of the noise. “Stay away from the hunters. Get Evan in Winchester’s arms, and stay back. Oh, and this flight is going to get rough. Don’t let go of the baby.”</p><p>     With that scathing comment, Loki threw them upwards. Lindsey had been expecting that odd swirl of blackness that came with travelling from place to place, like the world had been folded into a tunnel, and they were all sucked into the darkness within. This wasn’t like that.</p><p>     They seemed to rocket upwards so fast it was barely recognisable as a sensation. The sound of furiously beating wings could be heard, what sounded like three pairs, though Lindsey suspected it was just the air rushing against her skull. She couldn’t actually be hearing <em>wings</em>, could she? Around her, the air smelt burnt, like the fire of a sun and the ozone of a storm all at once. Wind rushed around her, whipping her hair into stinging flails against her face, wrenching tears from her eyes.</p><p>     Then, just like that, they were falling, so fast Lindsey could have screamed. Unable to move her arms for fear of dropping the still howling baby, she couldn’t even move to protect her head. Her whole body stiffened, a scream rising in her throat and getting lodged, lumping into a stone that couldn’t be breeched, not even by air. Everything rushed around her, the flapping becoming louder and louder, and Lindsey was sure she was about to die.</p><p>     Her feet touched ground.</p><p>     Startled, she stumbled forward, tumbling onwards and tripping over her own feet until she crashed into a wall, bracing herself against it with one arm, and sheltering Evan from damage with the other. He was still crying, though less fiercely. It was like he knew he was close to his father, like the bond within him was no longer wrenching at his soul.</p><p>     Behind her, Lindsey could hear desperate screaming, a voice familiar and yet not at the same time. Sam’s voice was meant to be soft, kind, caring. Sure, there was self-hatred in there, and pain buried deep, but the raw agony she could feel rupturing from him washed through her, made tears prickle at her eyes all over again. Still caught in a haze of nausea, body still rocking from side to side like she hadn’t got her sea-legs yet, Lindsey staggered towards the sound of his screams. They started to taper off as she did so, until she was standing over a curled-tight form, whimpering softly into his own raw-bitten and bloody wrist.</p><p>     “Sam,” she murmured, crouching low. “Sam, hold out your arms.”</p><p>     Rocking himself until he was on his back, Sam levered himself up into a sort-of sitting, sort-of laying pose. It looked uncomfortable, and difficult to hold for long, but from the sheer wildness in Sam’s eyes, Lindsey wasn’t going to withhold Evan from him. Carefully, she lowered the baby into his arms, snatching her arms tight into her body when Sam scrabbled to pull his son as close to him as possible, uncaring of anything else around him.</p><p>     A dark head of hair bent forwards, nose pressing into Evan’s tiny little forehead, and finally quiet fell, only the sound of laboured breathing rising between them.</p><p>     “What the fuck just happened?” demanded one of the hunters, causing Lindsey to jump. She had forgotten they were there. It occurred to Lindsey that she didn’t know their names. The one who had spoken was the one who had pulled a gun on Sam, back when he had come to rescue her. He unsheathed a knife from his belt, pointing it at Loki accusingly. “What the fuck are you?”</p><p>     “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Loki’s grinned stretched wide and menacing, at odds with his teasing tone. “Let’s say I’m a dream you never knew you wanted.”</p><p>     “You’re not a dream,” this time, the guy that spoke was the one who had got his rings tangled in her hair. Lindsey resisted the urge to step over Sam’s shaking form and punch him square in the mouth. Not knowing the correct techniques, she figured it would hurt herself more than it would hurt him, even if his attention <em>was</em> still focused on Loki. “You’re a <em>thing</em>.”</p><p>     “Let’s call me a nightmare then,” the god shrugged, taking a nonchalant step forward. To Lindsey’s irritation and amusement both, he was pretending to inspect his nails, acting as if facing three heavily armed men was no big deal to him. Lindsey wasn’t certain, but she thought that Sam had told her that even gods could be killed, if the right weapon was used. Wasn’t he worried they had it? “Either way, reality doesn’t mean much to me.”</p><p>     “What reality is that, huh?” Mocked the final guy, the one that Lindsey hadn’t seen during the showdown at the bar. “The one where we’re about to kick your ass?”</p><p>     “I’d like to see you try,” grinned Loki, spreading his arms wide.</p><p>     Lindsey wanted to shout out, to warn him to stop being an idiot, but one quick glance from him, dark-whiskey eyes flashing golden at her, she knew her input would be unwelcome. Instead, she knelt down, patting at Sam’s clothes in the hopes of finding a weapon, any weapon, to protect herself. All three of the hunters were focused on Loki for that moment, but she was under no illusions that they wouldn’t turn their sights on her when they found her to be the easier target.</p><p>     Muttering under her breath, struggling to access the knife she could feel inside Sam’s jacket due to his attempts to shrug her off, to huddle closer to Evan and just ignore everything happening around them, Lindsey fumbled at Sam’s jacket. To the side of her, she could hear the soft grunts of roughly expelled breath as she finally curled her fingers around the handle of the knife, pulling it out of Sam’s pocket roughly.</p><p>     Loki’s delighted laughter could be heard from the side, along with what sounded like the revving of a… chainsaw? Whatever. Lindsey ignored the commotion beside her, though not the pleased spark that grew in her chest when she saw the first of the men going down unconscious in her periphery.</p><p>     Fingers wrapped around the sheath of the knife, Lindsey let her lips stretch into a smile when she saw Loki’s lazy recline on the book-strewn table, while men armed with chainsaws and what appeared to be stereotypical ninjas fought with the hunters. Where they had come from, Lindsey didn’t know. She could only assume Loki had called them into existence for the sheer fun of it.</p><p>     Attention back on the blade in hand, Lindsey took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready to fight, but knives could be deadly. She could very well kill someone, even if she didn’t know how to use it, and that was a big deal, especially to her. But Sam was incapacitated on the ground before her, too focused on his son, and she needed to defend herself. Teeth digging hard enough into her lip to draw blood, Lindsey unsheathed the blade, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she did.</p><p>     Leather sheath dropping into her lap, Lindsey held the knife out in front of her, both hands wrapped tightly around the handle. Glancing to the side, Lindsey saw Loki standing on the table, delight limning his features as he watched the man who had held her by the hair wrestle with a ninja and the chainsaw man at the same time. It looked exhausting, and he was taking in great, heaving breaths that made his chest shudder. She couldn’t see the second guy.</p><p>     Just before she could turn, just before she could locate him, she felt her head get yanked backwards by her hair yet again. An outraged cry escaped her lips, and she threw her elbows backwards with all her weight, forgetting she was still holding the blade. The blunt end of the grip slammed into her stomach, winding her enough that she doubled over. To her dismay, the blade tumbled out of her hands, slicing over her thigh on the way down. A shallow line of fire traced its descent, and blood bloomed rosy red on her jeans.</p><p>     Before she could focus on more than the pain, she was being yanked backwards again. Desperately, she reached forwards, hoping to scoop up the knife. No matter how far forwards she inched her fingers, the hunter behind her yanked her backwards just that little bit more. It was almost as if he took sick delight in taunting her, letting her believe for a few moments at a time that she would be able to reach the knife, then whipping that hope away. Frustrated tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she <em>would not</em> let them fall. <em>She could do this</em>. She knew she could.</p><p>     A deafening bang resounded throughout the room.</p><p>     The pressure pulling at her hair dropped away instantaneously. A clatter sounded behind her, metallic and dreadful in equal measure, and then the thump of a body hitting the floor.</p><p>     Tentatively, Lindsey turned.</p><p>     There, sprawled on his back, lay the hunter who had been tugging her backwards, laughing at her inability to escape, to reach a weapon. A puddle of blood was spreading around him, creeping ever closer to her. Stomach rolling, Lindsey pressed her palm to her mouth and scrambled up and away, eyes fixed only on the growing pool of scarlet around his form.</p><p>     “Why…” she whispered, through cold lips, unable to wrench her gaze away from the body. “Why did you do that?”</p><p>     “Lindsey—” Sam began, voice strained. Finally able to tear her stare from the dead hunter, she focused on Sam. He had Evan clutched in one hand, and a gun clutched loosely in the other. “Lindsey—”</p><p>     “No, Sam,” she shook her head, holding up a hand to stop him from talking. “Why did you kill him?”</p><p>     She had never seen a dead body before, it occurred to her. They weren’t like she had been expecting, still and almost-sleeping. This body was pale, eyes staring endlessly at the mildew constellations on the ceiling. A hole ran through the front of his head, splatters of brain matter decorating the floor underneath him, the wall behind where he had been standing. The man was painting the room, and Lindsey was going to be sick. There was nothing peaceful about this. There was only the violence of the end.</p><p>     “Because,” drawled Loki, stepping closer. His palms were rubbing together, like he was proud of a job well done. It dawned on Lindsey that the chainsaw noises had stopped. The third hunter was also unconscious – at least, she<em> thought </em>so, <em>hoped</em> so – drawling puddles onto the floor through swollen lips. Loki drew her attention back with his overly cheerful sing-song of a voice. “He was going to kill you.”</p><p>     “Kill… Kill me?” Lindsey’s lips were numb, her tongue a dead thing in her mouth. “What do you mean, he was going to kill me?”</p><p>     “How many knives do you see, Lindsey-lou?” She wanted to snap, whip around and demand the god never call her that again, but his question took over her mind, forcing her to count the blades on the floor. There was the one she had dropped, the edge shimmering red from her own blood. Then there was another, an island in the pool of scarlet, gleaming wickedly up at her, like a smile with too-sharp teeth. “I see two. How about you?”</p><p>     Understanding rushed through her, but it wasn’t comforting. Wide-eyed, knowing her cheeks were as pale as death, Lindsey turned to Sam, ignoring the strands of hair that fell across her face, catching on her eyelashes.</p><p>     “You saved me?” She murmured, taking a boulder-heavy step forwards. Fear struck her, the knowledge that she had been about to lose her life and hadn’t even <em>known</em>, and she took more staggering paces forwards, dropping to her knees at Sam’s side. “Sam, than—”</p><p>     “Don’t thank me,” he was scowling, his shaggy head of hair ducked, hazel eyes unwilling to meet her own. “He was one of us.”</p><p>     Lindsey didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Gently, she placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but he shook it off, fixing his unseeing eyes on his son and refusing to lift his head, even just a little bit. Imploringly, Lindsey turned to Loki, hoping he would know what to do. Rolling his eyes, the god stepped forwards, coming to a stop at Sam’s blood-dipped feet.</p><p>     “Winchester,” the god said, hands on his hips. To Lindsey’s surprise, Sam’s eyes slid upwards, not far enough to meet the god’s amber stare, but enough to fix on his nose. “You aren’t one of them.”</p><p>     Sam flinched at that, though Lindsey wasn’t certain that the god had meant it as an insult. After all, if she had been told she wasn’t like those hunters, she wouldn’t have found it a terrible thing. Though, if you had been brought up by one, had been told to idolise them, she supposed she, too, might have been upset to learn that she didn’t fit in amongst them.</p><p>     With those thoughts whirling around her head and a dead man’s eternal stare piercing through her very soul, Lindsey barely noticed it when Loki curled his hands firmly under both of their armpits and took them home, the pounding of enormous wings following them the whole way.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>……………………….</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A few hours after Sam had shot Steve Bose, he was changing Evan in the kitchen. Loki had escorted him there, them both having left Lindsey to come to terms with what she had witnessed that day, and the horrors that would await her in the future, should she continue with her insistence of following them down their path of nightmares.</p><p>     Loki had also remained in the kitchen, and Sam knew why. He was doing his best to block out the god’s words, the demands that he break the bond between he and Evan so that nothing like what had just happened would ever happen again. Sam would have gladly, in an instant, if it weren’t for the fact that the god would then whisk his son away to do who knew what with, leaving Sam behind to mourn his loss.</p><p>     With more force than necessary, Sam slammed the used diaper into the trash-can, before heading back to the freshly-changed baby sitting in his carry-seat, cooing softly and somewhat contentedly. Sam knew Evan was tired and, beyond anything, hungry, but those were things he could fix. The pain he had caused his son that day… Those were things he could never take back. Loki was right.</p><p>     He was just about to inform the god so when Missouri walked in.</p><p>     “You leave that boy alone,” she snapped as she walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the kettle sitting on the side, on its heating pad. It seemed that Loki was partial to British fixings when it came to kitchen appliances. At least, Sam figured, for tea. Apparently, the god liked to do some things normally, and making tea was one of them. It was soothing, according to Loki, and he had spent the whole time he was ranting making himself a cup of camomile. Now Missouri had walked into the room, a troubled look marring her features, and she headed straight to the appliance as well. Sam figured he’d have to start making the beverage soon. He was incredibly stressed, after all. But then, didn’t he deserve to be? “He’s not breaking the bond, so you keep your opinions to yourself.”</p><p>     “Who are you, his mother?” Loki mocked, though he did do as Missouri bode.</p><p>     “Closest thing he’s got right now,” sniffed Missouri, either not knowing or not caring how her words affected Sam. It was like a knife to the heart, but a good one all the same. To be claimed, even if only loosely, was a magical feeling. He shoved the emotion down, getting up to fix a bottle for Evan as a distraction; nobody needed him blubbing in the kitchen just because someone had planted themselves firmly in his corner. “But there’s something I need to speak with you all about. Where’s Lindsey?”</p><p>     “In her room,” Loki informed them. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have knowledge of where everyone was in his house at all times. Sam figured it was a useful skill, and it wasn’t one he begrudged the god for. If he had a house, he would want to know where everyone was in it, too. “I’ll go and get her.” He turned to Sam, gave him a considering look. “I’m not sure she’s ready to see your face, yet.”</p><p>     With that, the god slid from his bar stool and slipped out of the room, leaving Missouri to shake her head behind him. It amused Sam, the way Missouri treated Loki like a misbehaving youth, though the amusement was only slight. After all, it didn’t change the fact that Loki was right; Lindsey would probably be unwilling to look him in the eye again for a while, if ever at all. And that was if<em> he</em> could ever look <em>her</em> in the eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>……………………………..</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dean sat on the edge of the motel bed, head in his hands. What Cas had said made sense, but he just wasn’t <em>sure</em>…</p><p>     The kid was only a <em>kid</em>, for God’s sake. Yeah, he might have been dangerous, might have been evil, but that didn’t mean… Well, it didn’t mean that the kid had a<em> choice</em> in the matter. It was like Sam’s son, he figured. The child hadn’t had a say in how it was made, in who its parents were. Just like Sam’s kid – and wasn’t it awful that he couldn’t remember the kid’s name, if he had ever known it – hadn’t had a say in its parentage. In fact, Dean supposed, even Sam hadn’t had a say in the kid’s parentage. He was under no illusions that Sam would have intentionally had a child with a demon, no matter how hopped up on skank-blood he was.</p><p>     Letting out a heavy sigh, the awful smell of nicotine-stained motel walls surrounding him, Dean wished that his brother were there with him. Cas had gone off to scope the area, but he was of no help anyway. <em>He</em> was the one who had come up with the plan, after all.</p><p>     If Sam were there, Dean knew, he would be whining and complaining and all-but-begging for Dean to stop, to think about the situation, to not just go in guns blazing but come up with another solution, one that didn’t involve a child’s death. But there wasn’t one, not that he could see. The kid was already causing major problems in the area, and that was just by <em>accident</em>. What would the kid do when it was aligned with demons, acting as the true antichrist it was?</p><p>     No, Dean knew, they had to kill it. He just… wasn’t sure.</p><p>     It felt wrong, deep down inside, and he wished for his brother’s support, longed for it, even. But Sam was a junkie hanging out with bar-chicks, psychics and gods now. There would be no support from him, none at all. Closing his eyes, Dean slid his fingers across the fraying bed-spread and under his limp pillow, fingertips reaching the cold metal of the Colt.</p><p>     Slowly, ever so slowly, Dean inched it out from its hiding place and held it loosely in his hands. Staring down at it, he knew he was about to do one of the worst things he had ever, ever done. But, to stop the apocalypse, he would do almost anything. Killing an almost-innocent kid, that would only be one of them.</p><p>     Still, he couldn’t help wishing that his brother were there, even if only to share half the burden with him. This was going to be one hunt that he would relive forever, and yet wish forever after that he would never, ever remember again.</p><p> </p><p>………………………………</p><p> </p><p>After Missouri had explained to them all what she had found out while they had been out, having a whale of a time, if Loki did say so himself, even if it <em>did </em>end in one death, and not even of a very nice guy, he sat there and stared at her. </p><p>     “Let me get this straight,” he said flatly, looking between three hopeful faces, one of which was blotchy from crying. Thoughts of loss, of how she had never witnessed death before, whirled around her head like thunder, drowning out all other noise, distracting him immensely. “You want me to help you rescue an antichrist?”</p><p>     Three identical nods were sent his way.</p><p>     “An antichrist?” he repeated, hoping that would sink through their thick skulls, make them understand. “You know what an antichrist is, right?”</p><p>     Again, he was met with nods. From the looks on all three faces, all three just as stubborn-looking as each other – and boy, wasn’t that interesting to see? People almost as stubborn as the younger Winchester (nobody could be <em>as</em> stubborn, that Loki knew for certain) – he didn’t think there was much room for argument.</p><p>     “I’ll reiterate,” he decided, folding his arms across his chest, though he knew he wouldn’t be changing their minds. “An antichrist. A creature of Hell. A monster. You want my help in saving one of them?” Sam opened his mouth to speak, and Loki gritted his teeth. He didn’t deny the guy had a big heart, but he couldn’t bear to look at him. The demon blood thrummed through Winchester. He <em>reeked</em> of it, and it made Loki sick just to smell it, to see it extending black streaks through his soul. It always had, but ever since Winchester had been sucking it down like it was going out of fashion, it had only become worse. It was hard to look at the guy, let alone<em> like</em> him. Holding up a finger, he said, as patiently as he could, “Before you remind me about your son’s parentage, let me remind you that I don’t care.”</p><p>     “Please, Loki,” Sam turned those stupidly beseeching eyes on him, the ones with the heavy wrinkle between his brow, the shining wet sparkle of tears glinting across his irises. It was the look that had softened Loki, had given Sam his brother back in that world Loki had created of constant death. “This guy, this Jesse, he’s only a<em> kid</em>. We have to save him, we have to teach him to be better, to do right.”</p><p>     The irony caused Loki to laugh, and he wiped away imaginary tears as he clutched his belly with his other hand. Across the island from him, Winchester shifted, jaw clenched tight and pushed out stubbornly, but those puppy-dogs finally lowered from Loki’s fixing swimmingly on the table instead. To Loki’s surprise, Missouri and Lindsey both reached out to rub at his upper arms soothingly. He barely resisted curling his lip up in disgust. How could they touch something so obviously tainted? How could they stand to be near Winchester? Didn’t the blood make their skin crawl?</p><p>     Then again, he knew human senses, even those of a psychic’s, were much weaker than his own. Perhaps they couldn’t feel the taint. Perhaps they weren’t sickened by the smell.</p><p>     Unable to help himself, Loki opened his mouth, asked, “And what if he can’t be better than his nature, Winchester? What if he’s like you?”</p><p>     Unsurprisingly, the kid flinched.</p><p>     For a creature who had been so bolstered by Hell, who had gone down the path laid out for him so willingly – it had to be willingly, didn’t it? Loki couldn’t see a different explanation – he did seem to think very little of himself. Whenever Loki listened in, and he listened in a <em>lot </em>(mostly because the kid seemed physically incapable of keeping his thoughts to himself), Sam’s brain appeared to be full to the brim with self-loathing, self-recrimination. It was more than a little confusing, and it made Loki feel funny to hear it. Funny how, he didn’t know. Worse, he didn’t know why, either.  </p><p>     “If he’s like me,” Sam began slowly, the words seemingly drawn out reluctantly. “Then we’ll deal with it then. But… I think he’s just a kid. I think he can be taught to do good, just like Evan can be taught to do good. And I think…”</p><p>     He hesitated, biting his lip to keep his next sentence trapped inside. Frustration welled up inside Loki. So full of self-hatred were Winchester’s thoughts, that he couldn’t get past them to listen to what the kid was thinking.</p><p>     Luckily for Loki, Missouri reached out, placing her hand over Winchester’s spare hand – the other was engaged in holding his son – and said to him, “Go on, Sam. Tell us what you’re worried about.”</p><p>     “I think my brother has the Colt,” Winchester finally admitted, having mustered up the courage. “I think he intends to use it.”</p><p>     Loki knew the younger Winchester meant on Jesse Turner, the antichrist in question, but Loki couldn’t help thinking about how else Dean Winchester would use the Colt. Fear that he would anger Lucifer, his brother, shot through Loki. A decision was made, one he would stick to.</p><p>     “I’ll help you rescue the antichrist,” he informed them, not lifting his eyes to meet any of their stares. Gaze focused on the table, hundreds of plans churning in his grace – he was still an archangel, even if he was no longer <em>Gabriel </em>– Loki promised. “I’ll help you rescue the kid, if<em> you</em> get that gun.” He met Winchester’s eyes then, his own stare intent, piercing. To his surprise, the kid didn’t flinch away this time. “That is one weapon I would like to get my hands on.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean is struggling with the knowledge of what he has to do on his next hunt. Meanwhile, Sam and the rest of the gang are taking a very different approach to the same hunt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos so far! They mean a lot to me. :) </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it is a little bit bit-ty. </p>
<p>Thank you for reading. Please feel free to comment, if you wish. Enjoy... :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Twelve</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hissing a curse under her breath, Lindsey tried to jig the lock on the trunk of the Impala. It wasn’t budging.</p>
<p>     They had got to town a few hours earlier, taking the car because Loki had refused to teleport into an area monitored by an antichrist. He had claimed it was dangerous, and that his sudden appearance would put the boy on high alert, even if the child didn’t understand what it was he was sensing. Because of that, they had driven, but it had been tense.</p>
<p>     As time had passed, Loki had looked sicker and gradually more irate. By the end, Missouri was pursing her lips so hard Lindsey was surprised they hadn’t fused together. Sam had looked like he was going to vibrate out of his seat, despite being the driver, and Evan had been whimpering to himself in the back seat, even after Lindsey had fed him the bottle Loki had conjured up for him.</p>
<p>     After fleeing that tense enclosure almost the second they had located Dean’s car, Lindsey and Missouri had both taken the time to shake themselves out before heading towards the black beast of a vehicle. With fingers crossed, Lindsey had pulled out the tools Sam had attempted to show her how to use the previous night, but she hadn’t had high hopes for her chances of succeeding with them. Unfortunately for her, she had been right. The trunk refused to open.</p>
<p>     “God dammit!” she cried, slapping her hand against the dusty metal of the trunk and immediately regretting it as pain radiated from her palm. “Open, why won’t you?”</p>
<p>     “Were Sam’s instructions difficult to follow, Dear?” Missouri asked in a tone that sounded somewhat mocking to Lindsey. Gritting her teeth, she spun on the older woman, accusing finger pointing towards her, but said nothing, too irritated to form words. Missouri, it seemed, wasn’t in the same boat. “It’s a surprise. That boy has always given clear instructions in the past.”</p>
<p>     Wanting to refute that, but finding herself unable to – Sam had given clear instructions, it was Lindsey’s own inability to succeed with them holding her back – Lindsey turned back to the car, kicking a worn-thin tyre in frustration. It hurt.</p>
<p>      Running a hand through her hair, still ragged and in desperate need of a cut, Lindsey groaned.</p>
<p>     “What are we going to do now?” She pressed her fingers tightly into her eye sockets, letting patterns dance behind her eyes. “We can’t exactly call Sam back, can we? And his brother’s going to be along any minute now.”</p>
<p>     “Don’t you worry about that, Girl,” Missouri came closer, patting her on the shoulder. It surprised Lindsey, the knowledge that the older woman didn’t like her very much dancing at the back of her mind, but she let it happen. “I think I’m going to have a word with Dean Winchester. You stay here, find a way into the trunk. I’m going to find that boy.”</p>
<p>     With that, Missouri turned on her heel, and with a sharp nod of her head, marched promptly away. Left staring after her, Lindsey shook her head, before turning back to the Impala, wondering just how exactly she was going to get in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tightening his hands around the steering wheel, Sam tried to ignore the way the god sitting next to him had contorted his body around until he could fish Evan out of his seat, before cooing and bouncing him in his arms. It wasn’t the thought of danger to his son that got him – strangely, Sam trusted that Loki wouldn’t hurt Evan, and he knew that in the god’s arms was the safest place to be if Sam crashed – it was the fact that Evan, a creature born of demonic influences, could be forgiven by the god, but he couldn’t.</p>
<p>     It wasn’t that he wanted a close relationship with Loki, either. Nor was it that he resented his son for forgiveness that Evan would always,<em> always</em> deserve. It was simply the unfairness of the situation that got him. Then again, he supposed, Evan hadn’t single-handedly brought about the apocalypse, either.</p>
<p>     “Believe it or not,” Loki broke into his thoughts, sounding just as tense as Sam felt. “You didn’t single-handedly bring about the apocalypse, either.”</p>
<p>     Shock coursed through Sam at that statement, but all he said, through gritted teeth, was, “Stay out of my head.”</p>
<p>     Loki shook his own head next to Sam, muttering under his breath about stupid, idiot, <em>stubborn </em>hunters. When Sam didn’t say anything else, merely intensifying his stare at the road and resettling his shoulders, trying to ease the tension aching within them, Loki went back to bouncing Evan gently. Darting glimpses from the corner of his eye, Sam could see the way Loki’s lips were turning up slightly at the corners, pulled up softly, fondly, as if the god wasn’t even aware a smile was spreading across his face.</p>
<p>     Huffing, Sam tried to ignore them, but it was like trying to ignore a fire right next to him. Loki looked so warm, so happy, sitting holding Evan in his arms, almost as if he were made to hold children, to protect them and love them and care for them.</p>
<p>     Almost out of the blue, Loki informed him, “Evan is a lovely child.”</p>
<p>     “What?” Sam found himself sputtering.</p>
<p>     He hadn’t been expecting a compliment from the god. Even if it was technically a compliment of his son, it seemed entirely out of place. Loki did not compliment Sam or Sam’s affiliates, after all.</p>
<p>     “I said, ‘Evan is a lovely child’.” Loki repeated, drawling his words as if he were speaking to someone particularly slow, particularly stupid.</p>
<p>     “No, I know,” Leaning forwards, Sam flicked the blinker on, indicating he was turning left. “I just… Didn’t think I’d heard you right, that’s all.” The god didn’t say anything to that, so Sam threw a glance sideways, checking his expression. A single golden eyebrow was raised, a question dancing in Loki’s eyes. Sam shrugged. “I figured you didn’t like me. Or, by extension, Evan.”</p>
<p>     Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Loki seemed only to roll his eyes, as if Sam’s point weren’t even worth acknowledging, let alone disputing. Sighing softly to himself, Sam focused back on the road, carefully drawing them to the outskirts of town. He kept an eye out for any sign of his brother wandering the streets, hoping that they didn’t spot him. It wouldn’t do to have Dean showing up while they were trying to help Jesse, after all.</p>
<p>     As he watched, silence fell between them, tense enough that if felt to Sam as if it could snap like a rubber band at any moment. Gritting his teeth, he tried to find something to say, anything at all to get the god beside him talking.</p>
<p>     Eventually, he asked, “Before, you mentioned—”</p>
<p>     “I don’t know how,” Loki cut off, reading his mind yet again. Resisting the urge to snap at the god, Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel instead, channelling his annoyance through that. “The only way to purify your blood has been lost to time, Winchester.” He paused, then added, somewhat uncertainly. “Besides, I’m pretty sure it would have ended in your death, anyway.”</p>
<p>     “Wouldn’t that be better for everyone?” Sam uttered under his breath, forgetting briefly that he was sitting next to a creature with hearing far above and beyond any human’s. “If I had pure blood, maybe I wouldn’t have opened Hell. If I hadn’t done that… Maybe, I would have done more good than bad in my life.”</p>
<p>     Sam couldn’t bring himself to admit that an old wish, one he’d dreamed of when he was younger, when he was far more innocent, had risen to the surface. The idea of going to heaven fluttered in his mind, like a banner in the breeze, taunting him. He knew the second he moved towards it, allowed his attention to grasp on it, the banner would flutter out of his fingers and away from his grasp forever. It was already too late to try reaching for it now.</p>
<p>     Expecting ridicule for his statement, and for the wild thoughts whirling in his mind, Sam had to admit that the stern look the god gave him, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a thin line, ruined only somewhat by Evan reaching up to bat at Loki’s chin, surprised him. Loki’s next words surprised him even more.</p>
<p>     “Heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Kid,” Loki informed him, eyes steady and amber-hard where they met Sam’s gaze. Disgust curled the corners of his lips just slightly, but Sam suspected that just this once, it wasn’t directly aimed at him. “Take it from me; it’s not somewhere you want to be.”</p>
<p>     Curiosity overtook Sam, his urge to learn more, always more, overtaking his regret that he’d lost his place in heaven when he’d chosen to do Ruby’s bidding. Though, even while he was doing it, he’d known he wouldn’t be getting in. It had been devastating, because that was all he had wanted to know when he was younger. Was he good? He knew the answer to that now. No.</p>
<p>     Still, the idea that the god didn’t like heaven, didn’t believe in its goodness, caught at Sam, pushed him to ask more.</p>
<p>     Licking his lips, he hesitantly asked, “What do you mean by that?”</p>
<p>     “None of your business,” Loki snapped, turning to face the other way.</p>
<p>     He stayed that way for a few moments in silence, acting as if whatever he saw out the window was the most interesting thing in the world right then. Sam knew it wasn’t. He could see everything they passed in the windscreen first, and it was mostly incredibly ordinary houses.</p>
<p>     “Loki?” Sam pressed, surprised at his own audacity. His one goal had been <em>not </em>to antagonise the god, since he had decided he was sticking around, and yet there he was, pressing for answers Loki very obviously did not want to give. Trying again, he added, “What did you mean?”</p>
<p>     “Just drop it!” Loki hissed, whirling in his seat with Evan still clutched in his arms. Sam shrank back a little, shocked by the mask of defensive rage the god was projecting. Gulping, he refocused on the road, shoulders tense enough he knew they were going to ache later. “Can’t you just focus on your idiotic mission? Why do you have to hassle me all the time, huh? I don’t want to help you anyway. It’ll only end badly for me.”</p>
<p>     Deciding to keep the fact that Loki had been the one to stick to them like glue to himself, Sam pressed his lips together, swallowing the pressing questions that were gathering behind his teeth, spilling forward from the back of his throat. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed briefly, firmly, before opening them again, attention on the road with a single-minded need to get to Jesse Turner, a single-minded need to get the job done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Dean rounded a corner, only to find Missouri Mosely of all people standing on it, arms folded and face stern, he had to admit he was pretty surprised. Especially when a quick glance around told him that nobody else was there, no Sam, no Loki. Though, he guessed, Lindsey could have been there and he wouldn’t have known. He’d never met her face-to-face, after all.</p>
<p>     Having determined he wasn’t surrounded, Dean drew closer to the woman. Despite her short stature and her soft curves, Missouri was very much a law unto herself. The way she acted, as if the world would bow to her whim because she said so, made him a little nervous. It was almost the same way gods acted, whenever he and his brother faced them, except Missouri was perhaps more unnerving, because Dean couldn’t sense any power thrumming in the air around her. No, Missouri just exuded an air as if she knew exactly how much power she wielded, and it was more than enough to put you soundly in your place.</p>
<p>     One hand wrapped around his waxy coffee-cup, the other tucked roughly into his jacket pocket, Dean slowed to a stroll, before finally halting in front of the woman.</p>
<p>     “Missouri,” he greeted, nodding his head slightly. “What brings you to town?”</p>
<p>     “I think you know,” Missouri didn’t unfold her arms. The only movement Dean detected was the stubborn settling of her jaw. “And I think you know we won’t approve, what with the way you’re reluctant to mention it, Boy.”</p>
<p>     Frustration coursed through Dean at that. Missouri wasn’t wrong, and it irked him that she was calling him out. After all, what else were they meant to do against a creature so powerful? Dean didn’t think that Loki, a god who liked causing chaos and playing tricks, would help in stopping the kid, and while it wasn’t an ideal solution to kill the kid, it was the only viable option they had.</p>
<p>     If Sam had sent Missouri to argue the case against it, the tactic wouldn’t work. Missouri had never persuaded Dean the way Sam had once been able to. Besides, Dean couldn’t trust Sam’s ideas anymore, and he certainly couldn’t trust that Sam knew the difference between a monster and a friend anymore.</p>
<p>     A cuff around the back of his head jolted him out of his thoughts, and he sent an incredulous glare Missouri’s way.</p>
<p>     “What was that for?” he exclaimed, extracting his hand from his pocket so he could rub the back of his head. “I didn’t say anything.”</p>
<p>     “You were thinking it, Boy,” Missouri’s tone was stern, almost harsh. “Your brother’s trying his best. The least you could do is give him the benefit of the doubt.”</p>
<p>     “Benefit of the doubt?” Dean raised his brows, certain that the psychic before him had lost her mind. Hadn’t his brother proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that his choices couldn’t be trusted? He’d worked with a demon. And for what? Revenge? Shaking his head, Dean turned to move around Missouri, hoping to leave her behind in the falling twilight on the street. “I don’t think so, thanks.”</p>
<p>     “Boy,” Missouri stepped in front of him, coming close enough that Dean had to take a step back in order to save Missouri’s clothes and his hand holding the cup from their burning hot, coffee-stained fate. “If you don’t change your mind about killing a child, we’re going to have problems.”</p>
<p>     “What else can we do, huh?” Dean asked, throwing his hands out to the side. Still-steaming coffee sloshed out of the rim and onto the street with a wet splat. He hissed as pain burst through his fingers, burning his gun-hand. Vaguely, without real form, Dean wondered if he would feel as if his hand were on fire when he shot a child dead. He wondered if he’d even be able to do it. “There’s nothing else, Missouri. The apocalypse is coming. What are we supposed to do?”</p>
<p>     “That brother of yours has a plan,” Missouri’s voice had turned a little softer, a little warmer. Dean couldn’t bare it. He bounced from foot to foot, the urge to run tingling in his legs. “Just come with us, listen to it. It’ll work, you’ll see.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah?” Dean asked, throwing a hard stare around. Still no sign of his brother, no hulking form or shuffling feet. “Then where is he, huh? I can’t see him, can you?” When Missouri didn’t respond, simply resettled her folded arms, Dean shook his head, let out a disappointed huff of laughter. “Didn’t think so.”</p>
<p>     With that, he turned and walked away, barely resisting the urge to bump his shoulder into the woman’s before him. There she was, asking him to believe in his brother, and Sam wouldn’t even look him in the eye to tell him about his ideas, couldn’t even be bothered to show up?  </p>
<p>     <em>Yeah, no thanks</em>, Dean thought, dropping his half-full cup on the floor and kicking it away from him. Piping hot coffee splashed up his leg, staining his good pair of jeans. <em>I’ll do it myself. He chose Ruby. He chose her, and he’s still not siding with me. I don’t have to listen to anything he has to say. Nothing at all.</em></p>
<p>     With that, he stalked down the street, letting Missouri’s increasingly angry cries bounce off his back. Steps heavy, with anger or with regret Dean didn’t know, he continued down the street, heading back to the motel. There, he could psych himself up. There, he could bring himself to do what had to be done. He knew it.</p>
<p>     His cell rang.</p>
<p>     Sighing, he answered it, listening to the angel’s voice on the other side.</p>
<p>     “Dean,” Castiel’s voice was as deep and solemn as ever, though there seemed to be an irritated undercurrent to it this time. “I have just seen your brother driving towards the antichrist’s residence. If you wish to stop him before it is too late, we must enact our plan now.”</p>
<p>     Dread shot through Dean, horror at what he was about to do sticking his words in his throat. Only his worry for Sam, that absolute fear that his brother was going to be killed by an irate monster – undeserved, he knew, but still there. He couldn’t just <em>stop</em> being a big brother – allowed him to utter, through fear-cold lips, “Come get me. It’s time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………………….</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nervous at what she was about to do, Lindsey tried to appear casual as she cast her eyes around the parking lot for a rock, a brick, anything heavy enough that she could break the window of the rolling phallus Sam’s brother called a car. It took a few moments to find something that appeared like it would be up to the task, but when she did she homed in on it, striding towards it as if she were going to walk right past.</p>
<p>     Drawing level with the hunk of concrete, Lindsey stopped abruptly, darted her eyes around apprehensively, then squatted to retrieve it as quickly as she could. Hurrying back to the Impala, she checked one last time to ensure that nobody was in the vicinity to witness her actions, before hurling the heavy lump of rock at the driver-side window.</p>
<p>     To her surprise, the concrete didn’t sail through the window in a cascade of glass as she had expected. Instead it crunched against the window, creating a spider-web pattern creeping outwards, before falling hard and heavy to the floor and rolling away. An alarm started, and Lindsey winced.</p>
<p>     “Come on Linds,” she told herself, pulling her jacket sleeve down over her fist and striking out a punch at the window. Pain spider-webbed out from her knuckles, just as the window had spider-webbed from the impact of the concrete. Shaking out her hand, she groaned, then pulled the fabric of her jacket back into place over her fist. “Just like in the movies,” she assured herself, striking again. “You can do this.”</p>
<p>     Eventually, after enough strikes that her knuckles were definitely going to bruise, Lindsey could finally reach through the window and unlatch the car from the inside. Conscious that she wouldn’t have much time until authorities came – they must already have been called. Glancing around, she could have sworn she saw a twitching curtain – she swallowed, heart in her throat. Nervous jitters shaking her limbs, trembling her fingers, she shut off the alarm, then found the button to unlatch the trunk.</p>
<p>     Pressing it, she extracted her bent-over form from within the car (she hadn’t sat in it, not having wanted shards of glass in the back of thighs, her ass) and hurried around to the trunk. With it unlocked, it was easy to pop open and look inside, and just as easy to find the hidden compartment. To her surprise, it was hidden just the same way Sam had hidden his own weapons compartment, as if the giant of a man had copied his big brother, even in this, even now.</p>
<p>     Scanning through the items, Lindsey pulled the drawing Sam had done of the Colt from her pocket. It was surprisingly well done, and she knew she would identify at least the symbols on the side of it with ease.</p>
<p>     Or at least, she should have been able to.</p>
<p>     Weapons winked at her from every compartment, every available nook and cranny of space, even things that she couldn’t identify. Sawed-off shotguns were here, machetes there, with daggers and throwing knives and knuckle-dusters and all manner of weapons in between. Frantically, Lindsey scoured the compartment, even wedging her fingers into the edges to see if there was yet another false compartment, if there was somewhere to conceal another weapon, anywhere at all.</p>
<p>     Five minutes later, sirens blaring in the distance, Lindsey straightened up from the trunk. Shock turned her arms to lead, dragged them down to hang at her sides limply, like her strings had been cut.</p>
<p>     Weapon upon weapon was staring up at her, gleaming wickedly in the falling darkness. Yet there was no Colt. Which meant only one thing. Dean Winchester had it, and he was on his way to kill Jesse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam looked down at Jesse, trying desperately to keep any hint of pity off of his face. Jesse was a smart kid, and Sam knew that pity from two adults telling him that he had to leave his family behind in order to protect them, that he had to come with two strange men in order to learn about his powers, wound rankle.</p>
<p>     “I don’t understand,” Jesse turned his big eyes on Sam, barely glancing at Loki, though his gaze caught briefly on Evan still cradled in the god’s arms before flicking back to Sam. “Why can’t Mom and Dad come?”</p>
<p>     “Because it’s not safe for them,” Sam repeated, crouching down so he would be closer to eye-level for the boy. “You’ve got powers. You’ve seen you have powers. But you could hurt them with them. Do you want that?”</p>
<p>     Jesse shook his head. Guilt rushed through Sam, threatening to suffocate him under the weight. He didn’t want to make Jesse hate himself and his own powers, but from their brief conversation, he already knew that Jesse’s parents were his whole world, and the only way to get him away, to get him to safety, would be to persuade the poor kid that he would hurt them if he didn’t leave.</p>
<p>     To Sam’s surprise, a hand rested on his shoulder briefly, before pulling away. As Loki stepped forwards, drawing Jesse’s attention to him, Sam saw him wiping his hand absent-mindedly on his shirt, fingers twisting and twitching as if they had touched something truly disgusting. He shrank away from the god, drawing himself tightly inwards.</p>
<p>     “Jesse,” Loki began, as Sam stepped backwards. “If you come with us, we’ll teach you how to use your powers properly, okay?” Jesse gave them a dubious look, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed. “We’ll make sure your parents are safe from the monsters.”</p>
<p>     “The monsters?” Jesse asked, eyes widening and darting back to meet Sam’s. “There are monsters?” Then, quieter, a canyon digging into his brow, he asked, “Am <em>I </em>a monster?”</p>
<p>     “What? No!” Sam exclaimed, stepping forwards quickly enough that he jostled Loki, shoulder brushing against shoulder. To his surprise, the god didn’t move away this time, too focused on Sam’s reaction if his intrigued expression was anything to go by. “Jesse, you are not a monster. Don’t ever think it.”</p>
<p>     “The giant’s right,” Loki squatted, a grin stretching across his lips. He held Evan out towards Jesse, smiling softer when Jesse reached out a hesitant hand to touch. Surprisingly, whiskey eyes shot up to Sam’s, a questioning look in them, as if Loki were gauging Sam’s reaction to having an antichrist so near to his son. Knowing Jesse, sure down to his soul that the kid was good, Sam simply nodded, letting Loki nod his own permission to Jesse. With hesitant fingers, Jesse pulled the blanket around Evan’s chin down, revealing his soft round face. “This guy here,” Loki gestured with his chin, indicating Evan. “He’s a bit like you. Do you think he’s a monster?”</p>
<p>     “He’s so little,” Jesse determined, worried eyes darting between the two of them. “I don’t think monsters can be this little.”</p>
<p>     An idea coming to him, Sam squatted next to Loki, a reassuring smile that he didn’t really feel coming to his lips.</p>
<p>     “If he’s small to you,” he began, reaching out to brush his fingers over Evan’s forehead, loving the feeling of his velvety skin beneath his own calloused fingertips. Turning his attention back to Jesse, he continued, “Then think how small you are to me. He’s too small to be a monster. You’re too small to be a monster.” Leaning in, a conspirator’s look on his face, Sam confessed, “I hunt monsters. I’d know if you were one, for sure. You’re definitely too small.”</p>
<p>     “But one day I’ll be big, like you,” Jesse pointed out, the furrow between his eyebrows only deepening. “Will I be a monster then?”</p>
<p>     Sam wanted to say no, he really did, but he couldn’t lie to the boy. Instead, he reached out, brushed dark brown locks of hair away from Jesse’s forehead. Unexpectedly, the antichrist stayed still, didn’t dispute the familiar touch, nor did he act like it was unwelcome or worrying. It almost seemed to Sam as if he leaned into it, though he knew that couldn’t be possible.</p>
<p>     Fingers still brushing Jesse’s hair back, Sam told him, “That’s entirely up to you, okay?” At Jesse’s confused look, Sam elaborated. “If you come with us, if you let us teach you, then you won’t.”</p>
<p>     Fingers crossed, hopeful energy buzzing through his veins, leaving him to vibrate in his crouched position, Sam waited with bated breath for Jesse’s answer. Just about to give it, Jesse opened his mouth, lips beginning to form the words Sam and Loki were hoping to hear, when a crash echoed behind them and fear shot into Jesse’s shadowed eyes.</p>
<p>     “Sam,” a very familiar voice called out, harsh and commanding. “Get away from him.”</p>
<p>     “No.” Stubbornly, Sam stood up, folding his arms over his chest. Surprised at his own willingness to stand up to his brother, knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on due to his recent actions, his recent mistakes, Sam moved until he was standing in front of Jesse.</p>
<p>     “Sam—” Dean’s voice sounded pained.</p>
<p>     Within seconds, Sam understood why. Dean reached into his coat pocket, slowly pulling out a gun. A very familiar gun. Fear speared into Sam’s chest, piercing his lungs with ice. Swallowing, he set his jaw, folded his arms.</p>
<p>     “Sam,” Dean tried again, eyes practically begging him to move. “It’s a monster. Move.”</p>
<p>     A soft gasp came from behind him, and Sam reached out to Jesse. Small, clammy fingers curled around his own, the faint tremors wracking the boy obvious in the hand curled in Sam’s palm.</p>
<p>     To Sam’s surprise, the next voice that spoke wasn’t his brother’s, but rather another familiar one, deep, gravelly, as if its owner had been gargling gravel, or maybe smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for the last five decades.</p>
<p>     “Sam Winchester,” the angel spoke, stepping around the corner, eyes dark as he walked forwards. “You will move out of the way. That is an order.”</p>
<p>     Before Sam could say anything, before he could even open his mouth to inform the angel that he didn’t take orders from him, he found a bundle being pushed into his free arm by his companion. Evan barely caught in time, Sam turned to him with wide eyes, ready to ask what, exactly, Loki thought he was doing.</p>
<p>     He was too late.</p>
<p>     By the time he had turned, the god had already stepped through reality, leaving Sam alone, with no one to defend him. Worse, Sam realised with sinking horror, he was left as the only line of defence for two children heaven wanted destroyed. Fear clenching his chest tightly in its fist, Sam tightened his hold on Evan, while spreading his feet into a ready stance, Jesse tucked safely behind his back. A fight was coming, he knew, but it wasn’t one he thought he could win.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Loki left Sam alone to defend Jesse and Evan. Can he talk Dean out of it? Will Lindsey and Missouri make it in time?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I think it's a little bit rushed, maybe? But I can't think of any way to pad it out that isn't useless filler. </p>
<p>Thank you from all of you who have left kudos and comments. They're always much appreciated! </p>
<p>Anyway, like I said, I hope you enjoy it...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Thirteen</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Desperate and unsure, Sam angled his body enough to place Evan into Jesse’s arms, pausing only to ensure Jesse was holding the baby correctly, before facing forwards once again, arms spread enough that the children were pretty much caged behind him. To get to either of the boys, Dean would have to go through him, and that was something he hoped, he <em>prayed</em>, that Dean was still incapable of doing.</p>
<p>     Irritation pressed Dean’s lips into a pout, chiselled a furrow between his brows. Colt held up, Dean’s aim remained on the spot Jesse had been standing, no matter that the bullet would have to go through Sam to get to the boy. The faint tremor in Dean’s hand was the only thing that gave Sam hope; Dean’s hand never trembled. This was new.</p>
<p>     “Please, Dean,” Sam began, knowing his face was crumpling with his worry but unable to help it. “Please, they’re just kids.”</p>
<p>     “Sam, they’re monsters,” Dean’s voice was strained, as if saying the words was something he was repeating by rote, something he didn’t truly believe, but<em> had</em> to believe if he was to do what had to be done. “Get out of the way.”</p>
<p>     “Dean,” Sam repeated, lowering one of his arms just slightly, just enough that Jesse was visible behind him, though not safely accessible to shoot. “Dean, look at them. They’re just kids.” Sam bit his lip, wild thoughts running through his mind, so many reasons to leave the children alone. Eventually, he settled on, “Jesse’s <em>good</em>, Dean. Really good. He’s sorry, too. He didn’t know. If he had known what he was doing, he wouldn’t have done it.”</p>
<p>     “I promise,” a thin voice piped up from behind him, and Sam felt as a small hand curled into the back of his flannel, little fingers gripping tight. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, Sir.”</p>
<p>     Turning just slightly, Sam placed his hand on the top of Jesse’s head, ruffling his hair softly, comfortingly. Jesse looked up at Sam with wet eyes, removing his hand from Sam’s flannel to go back to supporting Evan. He looked to be struggling with the weight a little bit, and Sam wasn’t surprised. As babies went, Evan was fairly big, and Jesse was pretty small for a kid his age. Yet there was still a determined line to his lips, a hardness behind his dark, worried eyes that told Sam he would protect Evan as he had been silently asked to do, would prove that he was a good boy, just like Sam was saying he was.</p>
<p>     “Dean,” Castiel’s voice cut in, and Sam whipped his gaze around to focus on the angel. He was looking at the children with a hard, flat look. Slowly, he began to advance, and Sam watched in horror as his hand raised, the same way it would raise when he was about to smite a demon. “These are not children. They are of Hell, and they will bring worse danger than the apocalypse already holds. We must destroy them.”</p>
<p>     Sam watched as Dean’s hand retightened on the gun, the way he flexed his fingers and steadied himself, taking a deep breath in, a deep breath out. Then, to Sam’s astonishment, Dean’s eyes closed, and his hand dropped just a little. It was enough. Enough for Sam to know that his brother wasn’t going to be shooting anyone that day. That was the way his hand had dropped on so many hunts where they had found that the monster wasn’t the one in the wrong, on so many hunts in which they’d let the vampire or werewolf or shifter go free.</p>
<p>     “I can’t,” Dean informed the angel, gesturing with the Colt at the kids loosely, without any threatening intent. Sometimes it struck Sam all over again how happy his brother was with weapons, to use them so casually as he did in front of the cowering Jesse, the whimpering Evan. “Look at them, Cas. They’re not even putting up a fight. One of them is a <em>baby</em>.”</p>
<p>     “<em>My</em> baby,” Sam broke in, eyes fixing on Castiel.</p>
<p>     The angel turned to look at him, but clearly thought of him as inconsequential. To Sam’s surprise – and it had to be brought on by stress, his mind playing tricks on him – he felt power building in the air, just like he had when he had been drinking demon blood before, though nowhere near as strong. It was a faint whisper, only enough to inform him he would be going flying right before he did, Castiel’s flicked chin seeing to that.</p>
<p>     Desperately, he latched onto that part of himself that could<em> feel</em> that power, that part of himself that shouldn’t exist anymore, and he tried to lock himself into place. It didn’t work, not really, and he still went flying, but not as far. It was like there was a rope wrapped around his waist, attached to the spot he had been standing. As he flew, the rope stretched out and then pulled taught, stopping him from crashing into the wall, though he did slam into the floor with a heavy, winding thump.</p>
<p>     Raising his head, blinking in surprise, breath still struggling to flow its way into his lungs, Sam saw the angel’s startled expression, then Dean’s equally startled one. While Castiel’s nearly emotionless face portrayed as close to dismay as Sam thought it probably ever would, Dean’s seemed surprised for an entirely different reason, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just seen, as if Sam had proved him wrong in some expectation simply by flying across the room when an angel made him. That, or perhaps Castiel had defied the expectation, and Sam was making something that wasn’t about him all about him, something he knew he should stop doing.</p>
<p>     With breath back and a faint headache threatening, Sam scrambled to his feet, wondering how Jesse’s parents hadn’t been woken by the commotion yet. Surely the silencing spell Loki had put on the living room would have worn off by now, with the god no longer there to sustain it?</p>
<p>     Shaking that thought off, Sam hurried over to Jesse and Evan, slipping between Castiel and the boys just in time. The angel was looming over them, ready to smite them, until Sam got between them. Cas’s hand landed burning hot on Sam’s back, eating through clothes and through layers of his flesh until it felt like his very soul was on fire, flames licking at it from the inside out. His vision whited out, and Sam could hear nothing but the pounding of blood in his veins, could taste nothing but ash on his tongue, until suddenly there was a bang.</p>
<p>     The burning point on his back ripped away, and through the bright white lights still burned into his vision, Sam saw Jesse’s terrified eyes, began to hear Evan’s wailing cry. A crashing sound echoed out behind him, and Sam turned his head slowly, unable to whip around has he would have wanted to. Everything ached too much.</p>
<p>     Finally in a position to see, Sam saw his brother lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, ordinary gun laying before him on the ground, Colt nowhere to be seen. Around him were the scattered remains of what had once been a bookshelf, planks of wood and open books strewn around him, over him. Dean looked dazed, until he blinked a few times, and a furious expression darkened his features. Sam looked away.</p>
<p>     Carefully, he gathered Jesse and Evan into his arms, hunching over them once more, fully aware that Castiel was sneaking up behind him. He could<em> feel</em> the energy the angel was giving off. It prickled in his skin, and it almost felt to Sam as if he could pinpoint it in his mind, the burning glow of the angel right behind him. Knowing that he couldn’t do that, that that was the sort of thing he had done <em>before</em>, on the demon blood, Sam shook it off.</p>
<p>     Eyes squeezed shut, promises that the kids would be fine falling from his lips even as he didn’t believe them himself, Sam turned his head to look over his shoulder, cracked an eye open to peak at his brother. Dean hadn’t even moved, was just laying there, staring at Sam as if he didn’t even care that the angel was going to kill him, kill the kids. Swallowing, Sam closed his eyes again, readied himself for magma to fill his veins once more, and winced when he felt the blast of power that exploded behind him.</p>
<p>     Still hunched over the boys, it took Sam a few moments to unfurl, to peek out from the cage his body had made between them and Castiel. When he did, there was no angel there.</p>
<p>     “Dean?” he asked, straightening up somewhat. Across the room, his brother was levering himself upright using the wall, books and planks and splinters tumbling off of him and onto the floor as he did so. “Dean, what—?”</p>
<p>     “He was going to kill you,” Dean growled, looking more furious than Sam had ever seen him. Whether it was aimed at him or the angel, he didn’t know. “I blasted him away.”</p>
<p>     Taking a few cautious steps towards his brother, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Dean didn’t flinch back from him, Sam peered into the shadows around Dean’s feet. There, in his brother’s own blood – presumably taken from the cut on the back of Dean’s hand – was a banishing sigil. Something warmed in Sam’s chest, welling up within him and threatening to overflow. When he blinked, water blurred his vision, turning everything in the darkness into nothing vague shapes.</p>
<p>     “Dean—” he bit out, knowing his voice sounded like he was choking on sobs. “Thank yo—”</p>
<p>     “Shut up,” Dean growled, stalking forwards from his corner, stooping only to collect his gun and tuck it into the back of his belt. “I’m pissed at you, Sam, but you’re my brother. Nobody tries to kill my brother.”</p>
<p>     Not sure what to do with himself, knowing full well that he would throw himself at his brother and cling on until possibly the end of time if Dean let him, and probably even if Dean didn’t, he turned around, scooping Evan from Jesse’s tired arms. To Sam’s internal amusement, Jesse let his arms drop the second Evan was taken from him, shaking them to work out the ache.</p>
<p>     “Are you alright?” Sam asked, crouching down so that he could look Jesse in the eye. When the kid nodded, Sam lifted one arm to ruffle his hair, letting a small, tired smile lift the corners of his lips. “Good.”</p>
<p>     “Evan isn’t,” Jesse admitted. Fear shot through Sam, and he began inspecting Evan’s every arm, leg, finger and toe. Nothing revealed itself. Looking up at Jesse with confusion in his gaze, he saw the boy was wringing his fingers in front of himself, pale skin even paler in his worry. “He won’t stop crying.”</p>
<p>     Relief that that was all that was wrong, Sam smiled, patted Jesse’s head and stood up.</p>
<p>     “He’s fine, Jesse,” Sam assured him, beginning to rock Evan gently, hushing him with soothing words and calming brushes of his fingers over his son’s downy hair. “He’s just stressed and hungry. He’ll stop crying soon, I promise.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, yeah?” Dean asked, coming up behind Sam. When Sam lifted his head to look, Dean was standing just behind his shoulder, lips pressed thin as he looked down on Evan. “And how are you going to feed him, huh?”</p>
<p>     “Not with blood, if that’s what you mean,” Sam snapped, moving so that Evan was kept away from Dean. While Dean may have protected him from Castiel, he hadn’t actually made a move to keep the children safe, and he’d only spoken up in defence of them once. Sam figured he could be forgiven for worrying about his son near his brother, even if only for the time being. “We just have to get Loki back.”</p>
<p>     “Get Loki back?” Dean asked, sounding disbelieving. “How will that help?”</p>
<p>     To both their surprise if the look on Dean’s face was any indication, it was another voice that spoke up, one that was speaking from right behind Dean.</p>
<p>     “Because it will be quicker for him to snap a warm bottle up than it would be for us to find a motel room, bring all the supplies inside, and then warm the bottle for ourselves,” the figure stepped back, enough for Sam to see who it was. In the gloom, Lindsey was staring up at Dean, and there, in her hands, was a gun. The Colt. “Now get in the car, or get out of our way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes later, and Dean found himself squished into the back of a car with a little boy next to him, leaning away and into his brother. Sam himself was sitting with a baby carried in his arms, which Dean was pretty sure wasn’t safe practice when it came to transporting children, though he did figure they didn’t have a lot of choice. In the front, Missouri was driving, while Lindsey was sitting with the Colt still trained on Dean. He pressed his lips together, irritation carving his features into stone. He didn’t need this.</p>
<p>     Sam’s son – Evan, Dean thought – was still crying quietly to himself, to his father, and Dean was suddenly struck with memories of his own brother at that age, whimpering and desperate for attention, for love. The memory struck so hard that it almost hurt, and his temper began to boil.</p>
<p>     “Would you stop pointing that thing at me!” He finally exclaimed, rounding on Lindsey, not worried that she was going to accidentally shoot him in her surprise. She hadn’t even taken the safety off of the gun, and Dean knew why. There were two children sitting right next to him, and a giant of a brother Lindsey seemed to be fond of, one who kept sending him apologetic looks, as if he couldn’t just say the word and make Lindsey put the gun down. “I’m not going to jump out of the car while we’re going this fast,” he jabbed his thumb to the side of him, indicating the blur of a scene through the window. “I’m not going to hurt the kids, and I’m not going to strangle Missouri from behind, alright?”</p>
<p>     Lindsey only narrowed her eyes, her lips pulling down further into an even harsher scowl. For whatever reason, Dean knew that the blonde didn’t like him, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d never met her, after all, and if it was because of Sam’s whining about him while they had split up, Dean would be sure to put that right. His brother had been in the wrong, after all, after <em>opening the final seal</em>.</p>
<p>     “Dean Winchester, you put those sort of thoughts right out of your head,” Missouri broke into his reverie, her voice as disapproving and stern as it ever had been. To his surprise, he found himself sharing bewildered glances with his brother, just the way they had always done before. Furious with himself for falling back into old habits, he turned his face away, refocusing on the patches of silvery moonlight by the side of the road they were on. “It ain’t right, what you’re thinking.”</p>
<p>     “I second that,” Dean jumped, whirling around to look behind him in the direction of the voice he knew well. “Those,” he flicked Dean on the forehead, a wicked grin stretching his features. “Are not the sort of thoughts you should be having, Dean-o.”</p>
<p>     “How did you get here?” he asked, cursing himself even as he did.</p>
<p>     Loki was a god. It was no surprise he had appeared behind them, sitting cross-legged in the trunk amongst their luggage, head and shoulders poking up where the cover to it had not been pulled over.</p>
<p>     Loki waved a lazy finger towards himself, adding in a mocking voice, “Duh. God.”</p>
<p>     To Dean’s surprise, before things could escalate further, his brother broke in, asking if Loki could conjure up some milk for Evan. A look that almost seemed like guilt flickered across Loki’s expression, dancing behind his eyes like a flame, but Sam didn’t bring it up, so Dean followed his lead. If Sammy didn’t want to be the one to yell at him for leaving Sam to stand up for two kids on his own, then Dean certainly wasn’t going to be that guy. Besides, Loki was a god. What could his yelling really do?</p>
<p>     The click of Loki’s fingers startled Dean a little, and he jumped. To his chagrin, nobody else in the car did, all of them acting instead like they were used to it. When Dean turned to peer at his brother, eyebrow raised as if in question, he saw why. A bottle had found itself in Sam’s hand, and Sam was feeding it to Evan with practised movements, not even considering that Loki might have poisoned the bottle.</p>
<p>     “I wouldn’t do that,” Loki protested, looking almost furious. Dean raised his hands in response, though he knew his expression was giving his true beliefs away. With a growl, Loki insisted, “I wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>     “Wouldn’t <em>what</em>?” Lindsey demanded, anger trembling her voice. When Dean turned to look at her, he saw she had placed the Colt away in the glovebox, but she was still turned and facing Loki, fury in her eyes. “Wouldn’t leave Sam behind? Wouldn’t leave these two kids defenceless? Because it looks like that’s exactly what you did, to me.”</p>
<p>     “Look, Kid,” Loki hissed, leaning forward in his seat in a surprisingly threatening way. “You don’t know anything about it.”</p>
<p>     “I don’t know anything about it?” Lindsey exclaimed, turning her flabbergasted look on both Sam and then Missouri in turn. “I <em>don’t</em>?” When she got no response from either of them, she shook her head, turning her attention back to the god. “I know that when I got there, half the living room was destroyed. I know that when I got there, you weren’t there. I know that when I got there, there was a great big burn mark on Sam’s back, which hadn’t been there before. I’m pretty sure you’re not being there was the cause.”</p>
<p>     Dean wasn’t surprised. From the smiting the angel had apparently tried to give Sam, a great big handprint had been left behind, burnt into an already healed scar on Sam’s back. Only the hole in his clothes told anyone that it was new, that it had been made recently. Beyond that, it was shiny and dark, like the handprint on Dean’s upper arm. The only difference was, when he looked at it, he got the impression that it had been violent in nature just from the prickling at the back of his neck it gave him, the feeling that there was something off with Sam now, something different. It was strange, as the only thing Dean had ever felt about his own scar was unsettled.</p>
<p>     “Burn?” Loki asked, drawing Dean’s attention back. When his gaze fell upon the God, Dean saw that Loki was focusing on Sam, really focusing on him. Surprise parted his lips, a soft ‘oh’ escaping his mouth under his breath, and then he was pushing at Sam’s shoulders, making him lean forwards enough that he could brush his fingers across the palm burned into Sam’s skin. “Sam—”</p>
<p>     “Get your hands off of him,” Lindsey snapped, leaning over Sam’s head to bat his hands away. “You don’t even like him.”</p>
<p>     “Lindsey,” Sam finally piped up, placing the half-empty bottle down next to him so that he could move her hands away from over his head. That done, he picked the bottle up, and began feeding the rest of it to his still-hungry son. “Leave it alone. I know why Loki left the way he did, okay? It’s fine.”</p>
<p>     That seemed to shut Lindsey up, but to Dean’s surprise it also caused Loki to snatch his fingers away, to lean backwards where he was sat. Watching him intently, Dean saw that the colour of his skin began to bleach, worry – no, that was<em> fear</em> – etching itself into every line of his face.</p>
<p>     “You can’t,” he informed Sam through lips that appeared, to Dean, to be greying. “You can’t.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Loki is panicking because Sam thinks he knows his secret. Sam's got other things on his mind. Jesse has decided that maybe he doesn't want to be with them after all. Oh, and Dean and Lindsey don't like each other. Missouri, on the other hand, is just trying to live her life with all these children to manage.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p><p>I know, I know! Technically, I'm posting this on Sunday. There was a Taylor Swift Sing Along (o_O) night in the flat beneath mine, and it was pretty distracting for writing and editing purposes. Anyway, I tried, so it's a little late (tiny, tiny bit late) but oh well. </p><p>Secondly, you may have noticed that the amount of chapters has changed. I don't know whether there will be more or less chapters than there were now. I re-read my original plan and my brain was like, nope, not doing that anymore, so I'm kind of freestyling it for the moment (not in a bad way, I still have a direction in mind, it's just how to get there), and I'll put the chapter count back up when I know how many chapters it takes to get me to where I'm going. </p><p>Anyway, enough rambling from me. Thank you to all of you who have commented and left kudos. If anyone wants to leave a comment, feel free, they're always much appreciated. And now, I hope you enjoy this chapter... :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Fourteen</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Shock and horror both coursed through Loki’s vessel as he stared at the back of Sam’s head. Sam had just revealed that he knew what Loki was, who Loki was, and he acted as if it were nothing. Worse, he told Lindsey he understood the reason for Loki’s running away earlier, and with the mood the woman was in, it was obvious she was going to demand an explanation and she wasn’t going to stop demanding one until said explanation was given.</p><p>     Before he could even think about his actions, Loki clicked his fingers, casting a silencing charm over the younger Winchester. It was so sudden he didn’t even realise he had done it, not until Sam opened his mouth and nothing came out, not even a faint croaking sound. All eyes in the car swept to Loki, even Missouri’s darting to meet his in the rear-view mirror, before focusing back on the road.</p><p>     To Loki’s surprise, it was Dean who spoke first.</p><p>     “What have you done to my brother?” he demanded, reaching out a hand to clasp Sam’s neck. The younger brother inched back just slightly, so minutely that Loki suspected that Dean didn’t even notice the flinch. If he did notice it, he didn’t pay it any mind. Angrily, Dean demanded of Loki, “Let him speak.”</p><p>     “What’s it to you?” Lindsey snapped, her bad mood shifting in direction from Loki to Dean briefly. It wasn’t much of a respite, but it was at least enough for Loki to pull himself together. Shifting in his seat, legs still criss-cross on the floor, he watched the interaction between Lindsey and Dean and hoped that, in all the confusion, Sam’s revelation would be forgotten. Lindsey’s sneering voice drew him back into the fight. “You haven’t even<em> been </em>here this whole time.”</p><p>     “I’m his brother,” Dean defended himself, forcing Loki’s eyes to roll. That was Big-Brother-Winchester’s excuse for <em>everything</em>. “Who the Hell are you?”</p><p>     “I’m the person who’s actually been here for him,” Lindsey retorted. Loki turned his head back from Dean to her. He was beginning to feel like he was watching a tennis match, his gaze was switching back and forth so often. “Just because you’re Sam’s older brother doesn’t mean you’re allowed to just come into his life and start demanding things. You can’t tell someone to get lost and then just waltz back into their life like you have any right!”</p><p>     “You were the one who pointed a gun at me and told me to get into the car,” Dean pointed out, voice becoming gruffer with his heating temper.</p><p>     “Or to get lost!” Lindsey was nearly screeching at him at this point, red flushed high up on her cheeks and tears beginning to shine in her eyes.</p><p>     Hoping to make the fighting stop, Loki raised a hand, ready to click his fingers and cast a silencing charm on both of them. Missouri caught his eye in the mirror again and raised a single disapproving eyebrow, but once the hurled insults between the two occupants of the car started making Jesse flinch and Evan cry, Missouri sighed and gave a slight nod. It was only Sam’s hand, reaching back awkwardly to rest on Loki’s wrist gently, that stopped him.</p><p>     Tilting his head at the younger Winchester brother, he gestured to him, welcoming him to go ahead and try his own form of conflict resolution. Evidently grateful, Sam sent Loki a faint smile, one that held very little happiness in it at all, if Loki were reading it right. He found he didn’t like the way it sat on Sam’s face, though somehow it seemed fitting nonetheless. It took him a few moments to realise that that was because he hadn’t seen Sam truly happy or laughing since before the Mystery Spot incident.</p><p>     A faint shot of guilt speared him, but he shoved it down. He’d been trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that the younger Winchester couldn’t take a hint.</p><p>     “By all means, be my guest,” he muttered, and Sam nodded, surprising Loki. It seemed impossible that anyone could hear anything over the racket of children screaming at each other and a crying baby. Then, to his surprise, Sam was twisting in his seat, leaning over the back of the seats to deposit Evan in his arms. Blinking down at the wailing baby, Loki found himself saying flatly, “What?”</p><p>     Without answering him – not that he could, with the silencing charm cast upon him – Sam turned back to face the front, reaching out each of his massive palms to place on both Dean and Lindsey’s shoulders, allowing Jesse to lean further into his side and startling both yelling members of the car into silence.</p><p>     With their attention, Sam made a gesture for them to cut it out. Loki rolled his eyes and shook his head at the protests that arose from both Dean and Lindsey, but after a few more frantic gestures from Sam, both Jesse and Evan’s distress indicated profusely to them, they finally fell silent.</p><p>     To Loki’s immense amusement, both Dean and Lindsey folded their arms and hunched their shoulders, looking out of their own respective windows with a pout like sulky children. Glad the racket was over, Loki turned his attention back to the baby in his arms, rocking him softly and making gentle hushing sounds. It took a few moments, but eventually Evan settled down.</p><p>     An almost-empty milk bottle appeared in Loki’s field of vision as he was gazing down at the child. Looking up in surprise, he found Sam holding it out to him. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Sam gestured with the bottle more insistently, encouraging Loki to reach out and take it. With that done, Sam pressed his palms together and laid his cheek on them, closing his eyes. A burst of laughter escaped Loki, despite the turmoil inside of him, the irritation he could feel rising, and the fondness he felt for the child in his arms.</p><p>     Laughing and feeding Evan all at once, he felt himself collapse into a harder burst of giggles when Sam gave him a flat look, one that clearly told him that the only reason Sam was attempting charades at him was because Loki had silenced him, and that he wasn’t exactly impressed. Loki could feel brief flashes of annoyance from the man very much to that same affect, but he wasn’t going to go digging into his mind. For one thing, Sam didn’t like it when he did that, and for another, Loki was scared of what he would find. What if Sam really <em>did </em>know why Loki had run away upon seeing Castiel?</p><p>     Amusement fading away into a thrum of anxiety, Loki dropped his gaze from the young hunter and back to Evan, letting himself smile softly when the milk bubbles Evan was blowing around the bottle teat began popping. Empty, he tossed the bottle behind him and snapped his fingers, vanishing it before it could even hit the floor.</p><p>     “Did you see that?” he cooed down at the baby, shifting him up and over his shoulder so he could burp him. “I’m pretty cool, huh?” Still talking, he caught Jesse’s eye. Soothingly, he stroked Evan’s back and added, “I can teach you how to do that, too, one day. That’ll be fun, huh?”</p><p>     Jesse whipped back around in his seat, but Evan flailed a little hand around until his fingers were curled in Loki’s hair, little nails digging into his vessel’s skin. Reaching up, he gently smoothed the tiny fist with his thumb, flattening it out until he could shift Evan back down into his arms properly.</p><p>     “<em>You</em> want to learn at least, don’t you?” he teased, picking up Evan’s hand and shaking it a little.</p><p>     Glancing up, he considered teasing Sam about teaching his son to shake hands, but to his shock Sam was sleeping, head pressed against the window and rattling, neck bent in a way that looked almost painful. Shaking his head, Loki reached out and poked Sam’s cheek, right where his dimple had sat once upon a time, when he had still been employing it. Loki suspected it had been so long since the dimple had had any work that it might have vanished, moving on to some other person’s face, a face that would use it more.</p><p>     After enough attempts at poking his face, Loki finally had his hand batted sleepily away by the taller man. He woke enough to shift into a more comfortable position, throwing a thumbs up over his shoulder without even stopping to think. It impressed Loki that he hadn’t tried to speak, still fully aware that he was charmed into silence even in his sleepy state. Confused by the fact that Sam was thankful even for the small things, despite being enchanted by Loki, he pressed his lips together, musing.</p><p>     <em>Your father is a very strange man</em>, Loki decided, frowning down at Evan, bouncing him only a small amount, smiling when Evan’s eyes began to slip closed, a mirror to his father. <em>I’m really not sure what to make of him. At least, not anymore.</em></p><p>     With that thought out of the way, Loki leaned back somewhat, letting his own eyes slip closed as he let the wild thoughts spin through his mind at last. What did Sam know? How did he know? And what would he want in exchange for his silence? Terrified at his own musings, Loki slipped deeper into them, anxiety throbbing through every wing, coil and spiral of the grace within him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>………………………..</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Sam woke up, he found that Loki had evidently got bored of the drive, because they had all been snapped into a living room that seemed vaguely familiar. Sam was pretty sure he’d passed it at some point in all his wanderings, utterly bewildered by all the turns of the house’s tricky corridors.</p><p>     “You have,” a voice said from next to him, and Sam snapped upright, spinning around to face the speaker.</p><p>     Relaxing when he saw it was only Loki, still holding Evan close to him, he blinked again, taking the room in properly.</p><p>     On the rug on the floor, legs folded under him and fingers clenched into his kid-ratty t-shirt was Jesse. Dark circles bruised the underside of his eyes, and Sam winced internally. The kid hadn’t slept for far too long – he’d been too tense in the car, especially after the way Dean and Lindsey had been at each other’s throats like rabid dogs – and now he looked on the edge of collapse. Sadly, Sam let his gaze move on.</p><p>     By the fireplace, arms folded and scowl fixed firmly in place, Dean was leaning. It was clear he was trying to play things cool, but from the tense line of his shoulders, the way he seemed about to burst out of his skin, muscles tight with the promise of movement, pacing or punching or pushing, made it clear to Sam that he was wary to be in a god’s house. That, and the dark looks he kept throwing the blonde sprawled on the other sofa, was a clear giveaway that Dean was not practising forgiving and forgetting any slights made towards him, either.</p><p>     Lindsey herself didn’t seem much better, Sam noted. She had the colt on the side table that sat next to the arm of the sofa her head was laying on, her arm thrown back so her fingers could rest upon the gun. Every now and then, Sam noticed her throwing a cautious glance Dean’s way, before letting her eyes wander around the room, and then throwing another cautious glance Dean’s way.</p><p>     Silence hung heavy between them, even Evan making only the occasional whimper. Sighing, Sam rubbed at his eyes, then hefted Evan from Loki’s arms, glad when the god made no move to try and stop him. It seemed Loki was warming up to the idea that Sam was at least <em>okay</em> with Evan, anyway, even if he would never like that Sam and Evan went together. Permanently, if Sam had his say.</p><p>     Breaking the silence of the room, Missouri came bustling in, tray held between her hands, a no-nonsense expression on her face.</p><p>     “Here,” she said, setting the tray down on the table and bustling around it. Plucking a glass of milk from it, she pressed it into Jesse’s hands, saying, “Drink this. It’ll do you good.”</p><p>     With quiet thanks, Jesse began sipping at it, though he didn’t look as if he were enjoying the beverage. In fact, under Sam’s careful gaze, he just looked scared.</p><p>     “Jesse, Sweetheart,” Missouri began, reaching out to smooth back his hair. An unruly lock sprung up, refusing to be flattened down. Milk finished, Jesse leaned away from Missouri and placed the glass of dregs back on the coffee table. He didn’t lean back into range of the woman. With a sigh, she shifted from her kneeling position to a sitting one, her back leaning against the arm of the sofa closest to Sam. Softening her tone even further, she added, “We’re sorry to do this to you, Sweetheart, but nobody here wants to hurt you.”</p><p>     “He does,” Jesse flung his hand out, accusing finger directed at Dean, startling the man into raising his hands. Then, to Sam’s even greater surprise, Jesse swivelled his finger towards Loki, adding, “And <em>he</em> didn’t help us.<em> He</em> left.”</p><p>     “Not this again,” Dean groaned, tipping his head back.</p><p>     Sam found himself wanting to stomp on his brother’s foot, just like he used to do when Dean said something inconspicuous or rude. This time, Missouri beat him to it.</p><p>     “You shut your mouth, young man,” she snapped, employing her own finger in much the same way Loki had employed the silencing spell earlier, the one that Sam noticed suddenly that he was no longer constrained by. He wonder when Loki had lifted it, and why. The god had seemed so scared that Sam would reveal his secret earlier, but surely he had to know that Sam would never do something like that? Sam himself had secrets he would rather nobody knew, the demon blood only one of them. Snapped back into the present by Missouri’s voice, he heard, “Jesse, even Dean doesn’t really want to hurt you. Trust me on that. I’m a psychic. I know these things.”</p><p>     “You really can trust her there, Kid,” Lindsey added, still flung out over her sofa and apparently not shifting for anything. Sam <em>had </em>found himself in with a bunch of strange people, hadn’t he? Missouri slapped his leg good-naturedly. It was oddly out of place with the gloomy atmosphere of the room, too friendly and comfortable by far. Sam wondered if Missouri was starting to get too used to being in oppressive danger all the time. Startling him out of that line of thought, Lindsey added to her previous statement, “I believe her now, and I didn’t believe in magic <em>at all </em>when I found out. You’ve got a head start. You’ve got power.”</p><p>     “Dangerous power,” the kid added petulantly, folding his arms. “I don’t want power. I want to go home.”</p><p>     “Jesse,” Sam leaned down, careful not to squish Evan in the process. “We talked about this. It’s not safe.”</p><p>     Stubborn silence reigned for a few moments, and then Jesse relented. Sam saw him sigh, watched as his entire frame seemed to fold in on itself, collapsing under the weight of what the kid knew to be true. Sam felt sorry for him, truly he did, but he knew in the long run the kid would be much happier knowing that he’d kept his parents safe, that they hadn’t been possessed by demons or ‘questioned’ by angels.</p><p>     “I know,” the kid finally admitted, tone heavy. Seeming to think of something, he perked up, directing his gaze at Loki this time. “You’re powerful,” he added, and Sam knew why. Even just sitting near the god for any period of time seemed to make Sam tingle, hair standing on end. Loki’s power absolutely dominated the room. It was a wonder none of the rest of the group seemed as aware of it as he himself was. Though, Sam guessed, Jesse had sensed it, too, enough to ask, “Can you make my powers go away?”</p><p>     “Powers don’t work like that,” Loki explained, shaking his head. When Sam turned to look at him, his eyes were sad, focused solely on Jesse. “I’m sorry, but once you have powers, they don’t go away. They’re part of you, and nobody can change them, not to add to them or to take away from them.” Sam felt his heart stop, thoughts firing wildly around his brain. Loki’s amber eyes flicked to his, then flicked away, focusing back on Jesse. “The only thing that can be done with them, to make them safe for you and others, is to learn how to use them.”</p><p>     Confused at what he had just heard, Sam shoved his thoughts down, focusing instead on Jesse. The kid had gone white, skin blanking to an almost translucent paleness, his cheeks almost seeming grey. Then, to Sam’s astonishment, he pushed himself to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.</p><p>     “I don’t want to learn how to use my powers!” he yelled, stomping his foot. Unused to spending much time with children, knowing Dean was better at handling them, communicating with them, Sam sent a startled, pleading look his brother’s way. Dean, he found, had pushed himself forward off the mantlepiece, not taking any notice of Sam, and was coming forward to loom near Jesse. Jesse, in his worked-up state, didn’t seem to notice. “I want them to go away! I didn’t ask for any of this!”</p><p>     “Jesse,” Sam wanted to reach out, to soothe the kid, but his arms were full with his son, and he got the feeling Jesse wouldn’t have been receptive anyway. Sighing, he leaned as far forward as he could, perching himself on the very edge of his seat, the green cushion of the sofa thin against the framework, leaving it digging uncomfortably into his legs. “Jesse, we know you didn’t ask, but please. It’s for the best.”</p><p>     “No!” he cried again, folding his arms and shaking his head. Worryingly, Sam could see a watery sheen misting up his eyes. Certain that Jesse was going to cry, Sam froze up, not sure what to do. A crying Evan was one thing; he was a baby. A crying Jesse would be a whole other thing. For one, Jesse would need to be reasoned with, not just given a bottle or a changing or a nap. Tears finally spilling over his cheeks, Jesse cried, “I don’t <em>want </em>to!”</p><p>     “Listen here, Kid,” Dean growled, surprising Sam. Worried, he stood up, trying to put himself between Dean and the young boy. There was something furious burning in Dean’s voice, an undercurrent that told Sam that he wasn’t the best choice of people to be talking to children in that particular moment. Over his shoulder, unperturbed by Sam making himself a wall between them, Dean continued with, “You’re a danger, alright? It’s either learning how to use your powers, or we gotta do what we gotta do, capiche?”</p><p>     “Dean!” Sam exclaimed, wanting to shove his brother back but unable to. Spinning to face him, he bit out, “What the Hell was that for?”</p><p>     “What?” Dean asked, throwing his hands out wide. “I thought you wanted to kid to learn, right? Well, now he’ll learn.” Dean gestured vaguely, prompting Sam to turn his gaze back to the boy who was rubbing at his eyes, sniffling roughly where he stood. After a few moments of that, Jesse turned on his heel and bolted, running off into one of the many confusing corridors in the building. Sam was just about to run after him when Dean stopped him. Hand on his shoulder, Dean added in a softer voice, “Look, I’m sorry I made him cry, alright? But he<em> is</em> dangerous.”</p><p>     “Whatever,” Sam sighed, knocking Dean’s hand off his shoulder. Then, barely thinking about the dangers the corridors got him into, how they twisted and turned around him until he was entirely too lost, barely noticing the dismayed cries of the rest of the occupants of the room around him, Sam darted after the powerful little boy yelling, “Jesse!”</p><p> </p><p>……………………………………..</p><p> </p><p>Half an hour later, with everyone finally put up in a room – Dean had been unwilling to be in his house already, and had objected even more to a room, informing Loki he would just sleep in the Impala like an <em>idiot</em> (Loki hadn’t even brought the Impala to his realm yet, after all), right up until Missouri had given him a stern talking to, employing what Loki liked to call ‘The Face’ – Loki went in search of Sam and Jesse.</p><p>     Locating them wasn’t hard. The house was his, and therefore he knew the location of all the occupants, including the weird little thing that lived beneath the house and seemed to have a habit of collecting snails for the sole purpose of painting their shells with glow in the dark paint. Honestly, Loki would have kicked it out by now, if it weren’t for the fact that he felt sorry for it. That, and the glowing snails were nice.</p><p>     Nearing the stairway to the cellar the thing occupied, there was a tiny little room, one that contained only a few wicker chairs seated around a beautiful wooden table, cut from a very old, <em>very</em> fat oak tree and polished to perfection. It was on that table that Loki finally located Jesse, folded into a ball with his face buried in his knees. The younger Winchester, too, was perched upon the table, Evan still in one arm, but his other curled reassuringly, protectively, around Jesse’s shoulder.</p><p>     “So you’ll give it a go, right?” Sam was asking, his eyes doing that stupid watery thing they did whenever he really wanted something, the thing that Loki found it impossible to say no to, even when Sam’s very nature was making his skin crawl. Not that that was happening at that moment. Or, Loki noted distractedly, any moment since he’d reappeared back in the car. Odd. Shaking that thought off, he focused back in on the conversation happening between the sulky child and the man who was, surprisingly, a good father, “You’ll let Loki teach you?”</p><p>     “Mm,” Jesse agreed, still sounding clogged up and snotty, but much calmer than he had been in the living room. “Okay.”</p><p>     “Good boy,” Sam smiled at him, a smile that seemed so genuine, and, if Loki were reading it correctly, <em>proud</em>, that it were almost as if Jesse were his own child. Except, studying him closer, Loki could still see how truly uncomfortable Sam felt around older children. Amused, he wondered how Sam would cope when Evan grew up, if he would still be able to care for him as comfortably as he did now. “Why don’t you go find a room, huh?” Sam added, removing his arm from around the boy so that he could pat him on the shoulder. “Go get some rest.”</p><p>     Jesse nodded at that, scooting himself to the edge of the table and then sliding off the edge. It was a low table, so he didn’t even have to hop down, and Sam appeared glad for that.</p><p>     Rolling his eyes at the man’s weirdly protective streak, Loki entered the room, calling after the retreating Jesse’s back, “Your room has your name on the door. Don’t choose one that isn’t yours. It might have a grumpy Winchester in it.”</p><p>     Not even stopping to acknowledge Loki speaking, Jesse scampered off, leaving Sam and Loki alone.</p><p>     “Will the corridors let him through?” Sam asked, biting his lip. Loki found it oddly endearing, the way the younger Winchester made so many intense expressions. Kicking himself for thinking it, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Sam. “The corridors. They don’t like those with demon blood, right?”</p><p>     Surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself, Loki narrowed his eyes at the wall, added in as sweetly menacing voice as possible, “They better.”</p><p>     After that, silence fell between them for a moment, comfortable despite all that lay between them, from Loki’s disapproval of Sam’s choices to Sam’s apparent understanding of why Loki was so unwilling to be in the same room as Castiel.</p><p>     “You’re good with kids,” Loki eventually broke the silence, uncomfortable with it, especially with the way his body <em>wasn’t reacting</em> to Sam’s demon blood, almost like it wasn’t there at all. Shaking that thought off, he said, “So, your brother, huh?”</p><p>     Seemingly at random, Sam informed him, “I wasn’t going to tell any of them.”</p><p>     “What?”</p><p>     “What I know,” he clarified, finally turning around to face Loki, his expression serious, intent. “I wasn’t going to tell any of them.”</p><p>     “What you<em> think</em> you know,” Loki stressed, waggling his finger at Sam. His grace was beginning to churn again, apprehension setting it to storming. “You haven’t said anything, yet.”</p><p>     “It wasn’t hard to work out,” Sam added mildly, still not confessing what he had worked out. “You… You’re not actually very good at hiding it, Loki.” Finding he was just about to snap, he folded his arms, opened his mouth to say something disparaging, and choked on his own bottled up words when Sam added, “I don’t know <em>who</em> you are, but when you’re appearing and disappearing in a rush, you can hear wings. Like you could with Castiel.” Pausing, Sam seemed to think about it, then added, “You also seem really invested in them not finding you, so I can only assume that you’re one of them. Angels didn’t seem kind to angels who didn’t fall in line.”</p><p>     Before he knew it, Loki was laughing. Laughing and laughing and laughing until tears poured down his cheeks. Rubbing at his eyes, he heaved in a deep breath, shook his head and clutched his stomach.</p><p>     Then, he sighed, the weight of the truth dragging his grace down until it sat like a stone within his vessel, “They’re not.”</p><p>     Silence fell between them again, this time a little tenser. Though, when Loki let his gaze fall upon the younger Winchester, he noticed that Sam wasn’t focusing on him at all. No, Sam was staring down at Evan, then glancing at Loki, and then closing his eyes with a faint mark between his brows, a little crumple that made him look as if he were thinking hard.</p><p>     “Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?” Loki asked, drawing Sam’s attention back. Well, half of it. The hunter still looked pretty distracted.</p><p>     “Are you going to tell me?” Sam asked, brushing his fingers over his son’s head, before staring down at them in confusion.</p><p>     “Am I going to—?” Loki found himself spluttering, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Turning his attention to Evan, he exclaimed, “He’s made a big reveal about what I am, and he doesn’t even want to know <em>who</em> I am.” When he looked up, Sam was looking at him with a raised brow, so Loki finally sighed, bowed his head, and admitted quietly, “Gabriel. I’m Gabriel.”</p><p>     “Right,” Sam nodded slowly, and Loki knew that Sam was trying to reconcile the fact that he had been told, only a few days ago, that Gabriel was dead, with the fact that Loki had just claimed to be Gabriel. Opening his mouth, preparing to give a detailed explanation, Loki was interrupted once again by the young hunter. “Well, Gabriel, I have one question,” Loki raised his brow, gesturing magnanimously for Sam to ask it, “Why exactly can I sense the power of everyone in this house? Also, <em>what </em>is in your basement?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam wants to know why he can sense people's powers in the house. Loki offers to take a look at Sam's soul. What he finds horrifies him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone, </p>
<p>this chapter feels like it's more dialogue than anything. I hope it's not too boring to read. Also, sorry I'm posting on Sunday again, technically (I know it's so early into Sunday that it's almost unnoticeable, but I said Saturday was the day I'd post) but the Taylor Swift sing-along-night appears to be an every-night thing, which is pretty distracting. </p>
<p>Thank you to all of you who have left kudos and comments. As always, they're very much appreciated, and I welcome anyone who wishes to leave a comment to do so. :) </p>
<p>Anyway, that's enough from me. I hope you like this chapter... :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Fifteen</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dumbstruck, Loki stared at Sam. He stared, and stared, and then blinked.</p>
<p>     Laughingly, he said, “Ah, you’ve sensed Gary.”</p>
<p>     “Gary?” Sam asked, furrowing his brow. Loki shook off the urge to press his thumb to it, smooth it out. Sam hadn’t asked for him to do that, and frankly, Loki wasn’t sure where the urge had come from. It was only the fact that Sam looked so incredibly tired whenever that Wi-Fi shaped curved showed up, so exhausted beyond all measure, so much more than a human (ish) should have been able to take, that made Loki want to get rid of it. That was all. “Who’s Gary?”</p>
<p>     “The creature in the basement,” Loki clarified, climbing up onto the table next to Sam. Leaning back, hands pressed flat to the varnished wood, he continued, “It’s called Gary.”</p>
<p>     “Right…” Sam nodded, though he still looked pretty confused. It was almost as if he didn’t remember the last question he had asked Loki, almost as if he was still focusing on an entirely different area of the house.</p>
<p>     When he didn’t say anything else, Loki added, “He likes collecting snails.” That still didn’t garner a response from the hunter, so he pointed out, while fiddling with the cuff of his jeans that rested on his thigh, right where his ankle was drawn up across it, sitting back in a relaxed pose as if nothing was bothering him, as if nothing ever could, “To be fair to him, they <em>do </em>look nice, when they’re all glowing in the dark.”</p>
<p>     “Gabriel,” Sam interrupted, sounding frustrated. “Please, tell me. Why can I sense where all the people with power are in the house?”</p>
<p>     Sighing deeply, Loki swung his leg back down, then began swinging them back and forth, his heels kicking against the rough bark edges of the table. Fingers folded down over the top, grasping the edge as he leaned forward heavily, he steeled himself.</p>
<p>     Finally, he admitted, “You have powers, Sam.” Biting his lip, unsure how the younger Winchester would react when he pointed it out, he added, “That was what the whole Ruby thing was about, right?”</p>
<p>     True to his expectations, Sam winced when he pointed that out, flinching back so violently that Loki feared he would drop Evan for a second. Luckily, Sam tightened his grip before the child could slip from his arms, but Loki still feared it had been close. So close, in fact, that he reached out, gestured for Sam to pass the child over to him. Perhaps it would be better if Sam wasn’t in possession of his son. The conversation was probably going to be a difficult one for him, perhaps even similarly difficult to the one they had just had had been for Loki. To his surprise, Sam handed Evan over willingly, trustingly. It was almost enough to make Loki gulp.  </p>
<p>     With the child in his arms, Loki resettled himself on the tree-stump table, idly using a small curling arm of his Pagan magic to hook one of the rustic-looking chairs towards him. Feet resting on said chair, one arm holding Evan and the other stroking the baby’s downy head of thin hair, he turned back to Sam.</p>
<p>     “Look, Kiddo,” he sighed, making sure to keep his voice as serious as he knew how. Shaking his head, he said. “I’m not trying to attack you, but you know you have power.”</p>
<p>     “But it’s not been like this before,” Sam explained, a faint tone entering his voice that almost sounded like pleading to Loki’s untrained ear. “I’ve only been able to sense people when I’ve been drinking—” he cut himself off, a look of such extreme guilt shadowing his features that Loki felt it like a punch to the chest. Shoving the uncomfortable feeling Sam’s guilt roused in his grace down, he turned to him, studying his ever-expressive face. His eyes were sparkling with a diamond sheen, and from the way he swallowed, Loki suspected a lump was forming in his throat. His next words, thick with emotion, only confirmed it. “Is it because… Is it because I’m around so many part demons? Are their powers affecting me?”</p>
<p>     Cocking his head to the side, Loki considered. Thoughtful pout on his lips, he let the thought swirl through him for a few moments, before shaking his head.</p>
<p>     “No,” he determined, gently bouncing Evan in his arms. Holding the gurgling baby out so Sam could see Evan’s face, he added, “You’ve had Evan for months now, right? So, logically speaking, if it were his fault, your powers should have been affected before now.” Before Sam could argue with him, Loki added, “I know Evan’s powers aren’t weak, so it can’t be that it took time to work. Surely you’ve seen him use them? Surely you can feel them, now?”</p>
<p>     Sam nodded, an expression that Loki didn’t know how to read chiselled into his face. Was he relieved that Evan wasn’t affecting him? Upset that Evan couldn’t be used as an excuse? Loki didn’t know, and he didn’t even want to think the worst of Sam in that moment. Normally he would, but right then, when he still couldn’t feel the demon blood, the blood that was meant to be pumping around the man’s veins, never slowing, never stopping, forever tainting him? He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.</p>
<p>     Not sure what to do, what was wrong with Sam’s basic make up at that point, Loki considered his options. It seemed there was only one thing he could possibly do, only one thing that made sense. He was going to have to overcome his aversion to touching the man, overcome his aversion to studying this man’s soul, and he was going to have to truly look at it.</p>
<p>     For all that he was an archangel, he’d kept his true nature shoved so far down it was hidden, truly concealed beneath his Pagan powers, his magical tricks that had nothing to do with his grace, only the power he’d accumulated over years of faking being Loki. Because of that, whenever he looked at someone, he couldn’t really see their souls. He had taken to studying their auras, the same way any other god, lesser angel or even any other psychic could do. If he were to truly see Sam’s soul, truly study what was going on with the man, he was going to have to release his hold on himself, and it scared him.</p>
<p>     Biting his lip, he turned to Sam, told him, “I could always read your soul.”</p>
<p>     The younger Winchester cocked his head at him. With narrowed eyes, he asked, “Can’t you already do that? You’re an archangel aren’t you? And a god?”</p>
<p>     “I study auras now,” Loki explained, rocking the fidgeting Evan. The baby whimpered, but with a careful shushing from Loki, and Sam reaching out to pet the baby’s chin, Evan soon quietened down. “I could release my hold over my powers. I could check properly. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll like what I find. I can’t guarantee that<em> I’ll</em> like what I find. And if I don’t, you’re going to have to be prepared. With grace fresh out of lock-down, if I find high levels of demon blood in your system… I can’t guarantee that I won’t try to smite you out of instinct.”</p>
<p>     “What about Evan?” Sam asked, eyes fixed to his son. Chuckling darkly, Loki shook his head. “Won’t you smite him?”</p>
<p>     “Evan is good, <em>truly</em> good, without taint,” Loki explained, hoping to reassure the younger Winchester. “It was that that drew me to him in the first place.” Quietly, he added, “The only two in this house at risk would be you and Jesse. I’ll teach you a symbol to draw, in your blood, that should banish an archangel. It’s not too different from banishing an angel, but it will take a lot more out of you. It might wipe you of energy completely. You’d need days to recharge.”</p>
<p>     “To protect Jesse, I’d do it.” Sam’s shoulders straightened, his mouth setting into a steely line. “It doesn’t matter if it would take enough energy out of me to kill me. To save Jesse, I’d use the banishment.” He paused, then cocked his head to the side, considering. “Would you be able to control yourself if you came back? Would it be better for us to get away from your world?”</p>
<p>     Shaking his head, Loki admitted, “By the time I could come back here from banishment, I would have gotten myself under control. I can’t guarantee that I will be nice. Loki and Gabriel are not the same person, Samuel.”</p>
<p>     Pushing himself upright, feet still on the stool, Loki rose from the table. It took little effort to step down from his little podium, despite the fact that his vessel had a fairly short stature, and he did so, giving himself room to pace. It had been so long since he had been without a vessel that little quirks and nervous ticks tended to be displayed openly, habits he’d picked up from living around humans that made him look more human himself. Over time, they’d come to help him, and pacing back and forth while Sam deliberated certainly aided in calming his nerves over letting his true nature out to play.</p>
<p>     It had been so long since he had been Gabriel, <em>truly</em> been Gabriel in any more than just name, that he didn’t know what he would find once he let his grasp on Loki’s persona go. Would he still be that terrible and awe inspiring creature he had once been? Would he still be a creature of justice, no matter how violent, how ugly? Would his true form lash out at the people in his little pocket universe, crushing them like ants for daring to be in an archangel’s presence? He didn’t know, and it scared him.</p>
<p>     On his tenth lap around the room, small as it was, Sam finally broke the silence.</p>
<p>     “Alright,” he said, snapping Loki’s gaze towards him. Evan, in his arms, hiccoughed. When Loki cocked a brow at him, Sam continued, “I’ll let you look. But –” He held up a finger at that, hard warning entering his voice. Just a few days ago, Loki would have laughed at that warning, but it had slowly been coming to his attention that Sam wasn’t quite as much as a fool as Loki had originally pegged him for. “I don’t want Evan in the room. Let one of the others take him. I don’t want him in any danger.”</p>
<p>     “Good idea,” Loki nodded, shifting Evan into one arm so he could click his fingers. With that snap, Evan vanished, causing Sam to lurch forward from where he was perched on the table, arms stretching out for his son on instinct. He made a strangled sound, wide eyes meeting Loki’s over the stool between them. Taking pity on the panicking man, Loki assured him, “I sent him to Lindsey. He’s<em> fine</em>.”</p>
<p>     “What if she <em>dropped </em>him?” Sam asked, running his hands roughly through his hair. “Having a baby suddenly appear in your arms is pretty surprising, Loki!” He paused, shook his head, then muttered, “Gabriel.”</p>
<p>     “I <em>told</em> you,” Loki snapped, kicking the stool hard enough that it was sent skidding over the floor. It toppled over with a crash, making Sam wince. Loki only advanced, getting close enough to Sam that he could smell his old-library scent, along with the sweat he still hadn’t cleaned from his most recent exertion, and that strange burnt-skin and fabric smell that Loki still didn’t understand, not really. Darkly, face close enough to Sam that the younger Winchester was leaning back, startled, he growled, “I’m not Gabriel. Not yet. Not really.” Leaning back, he put a pleasant smile on his face, then informed him sweetly, “Besides, I put Evan on the bed. I wasn’t going to just drop him into her arms. I know how easily that girl spooks.”</p>
<p>     Giving Sam space, Loki could see the way Sam was shoving down his urge to defend Lindsey, could even feel the sharp thoughts prickling against his grace, telling him that, yes, Sam <em>did</em> think that Lindsey was holding up remarkably well under the circumstances. To be totally honest, Loki did too, but he wasn’t going to tell Sam that. Let Sam think he was an asshole. It wasn’t like, with his grace released, he wouldn’t be one. Easier to let Sam think he had always been one, than let him think Loki had changed too much.</p>
<p>     “Well then, Winchester,” he asked, voice so sugary-sweet that he suspected he himself, the great lover of candy, might get cavities. “Shall we begin?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………………..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean sat in the kitchen, mug of tea on the rough surface of the island. Hands wrapped around it, he stubbornly refused to drink it, instead staring very harshly ahead of him, right over the head of that Jesse kid, who had stumbled in earlier, looking lost and confused, but considerably less upset than Dean had seen him last. He guessed Sam had found the kid, then.</p>
<p>     Raising the mug to his lips, just for something to do, he wrinkled his nose when the flowery smell hit him. Exhaling a deep sigh, he put the mug back down on the table harder than he really should have, hot liquid sloshing out of the cup and onto his fingers, leaving him to pull them back with a harsh exhale of breath. Across from him, the kid jerked upright, a question seeming to rise from his lips.</p>
<p>     Luckily, the kid seemed to think better about it before saying anything, instead swallowing the question back down. Left to his peace, Dean sat back, wishing Missouri hadn’t removed the beer from his hands the second she’d marched into the kitchen, seeming to know that Jesse was going to show up there. Disgusted, Dean shoved the tea back, sloshing more over the table-top but not caring. It wasn’t his fault he was being denied anything to sooth his already frayed nerves.</p>
<p>     “That tea there’s camomile. It’ll calm your nerves,” Missouri informed him, back to him as she poured oil into a pan. Dean suspected she was cooking for Jesse – the kid’s stomach was rumbling something dreadful – but it was nice to think she might have been preparing something for him, as well. That thought got him a snort, a shaken head with clacking earrings, and a stern, “You drink that tea, there might be bacon in it for you. But only if you be good, mind.”</p>
<p>     “Why tea, huh?” Dean grumbled, peering into the half-empty mug. It was a yellowish colour, floral and herby. It did <em>not</em> smell appetising. “Fine, no beer, there are kids here now, but why not coffee, huh?”</p>
<p>     “You’re in a bad enough mood already, Winchester. Caffeine would only rile you up more,” Missouri still didn’t turn around, instead stepping sideways and removing some bacon from the fridge. Carrying it back to the pan, she put a few strips into it, the sound of sizzling echoing into the otherwise quiet kitchen, the smell alone leaving Dean to groan with pleasure internally. If he could have some of that bacon, he might even forgive his brother! Snappishly, Missouri informed him, “You’d best forgive your brother before more problems arise, anyway. There’s too much going on for us to be divided right now.”</p>
<p>     “It was his choice, for working with that demon bitch,” Dean folded his arms, biting his lip when he heard Jesse sucking in his breath. The fact that Jesse was an antichrist was easy to remember. The fact that he was a pretty innocent kid for all that, was not. Reminders like him sucking in his breath upon hearing bad language did not improve Dean’s mood, not in the slightest. “If he hadn’t picked her… Well, let’s just say we wouldn’t be in this mess.”</p>
<p>     “As if you weren’t happy to work with her when you thought she could be useful,” at this, Missouri did turn around, pointing the spatula she had been using directly at Dean. Wanting to argue, but finding he couldn’t Dean pressed his lips together tightly and took a deep, steadying breath. Then, he went back to staring out the window. Missouri spoke again, only this time to Jesse. In his periphery, Dean could see Missouri’s hand was resting motherly on Jesse’s shoulder as she said, “Don’t you worry about him. He’s just a grumpy old hunter. You just ignore him, now.”</p>
<p>     With that, she turned back to her cooking, a solid harrumph being sent Dean’s way.</p>
<p>     Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean let his thoughts wander to Cas.</p>
<p>     He hadn’t wanted to send the angel away, but when he had seen the way Sam was screaming, the way his body had lit up as if he were being smote – though he couldn’t have been, could he? He was still here, after all, alive and breathing and… oddly good with kids. Seriously, Dean didn’t remember his brother being so good with kids – Dean hadn’t been able to do anything else.</p>
<p>     God, he was still so angry at his brother, still having trouble forgiving him, but… But anyone hurting his little brother was done for. That was the rule. Dean could be as angry as he liked, could shove his brother away until Sam knew he was in the wrong, until Sam apologised and made up for what he had done, but nobody else, <em>nobody else</em>, was going to hurt him. Ever.</p>
<p>     A plate of bacon set down in front of him was what brought him back to reality.</p>
<p>     “That’s what I like to hear,” Missouri informed him, hand on his own shoulder now. Leaning down, she placed some bread and butter next to him, ready to be made into a bacon sandwich. Dean was almost salivating at the thought. “You continue protecting your brother, do you hear me, boy? He’s going to need it now more than ever, I fear.”</p>
<p>     “What do you mean by that?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.</p>
<p>     Were all psychics this cryptic?</p>
<p>     Just as he was about to ask more, the house rocked, not like an earthquake, but like a single boom, as if a shockwave had passed through it. Eyes wide, heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest, Dean turned to Missouri.</p>
<p>     “What the Hell was that?” he asked, throwing himself backwards off the bar stool, landing on his feet with most of his dignity intact. He’d only stumbled a little. “Missouri?”</p>
<p>     “Don’t you worry about that,” Missouri informed him, gesturing him back onto his barstool. Moving around to Jesse’s side of the island, she ruffled the kid’s hair, before snagging a bit of kitchen towel to wipe ketchup off of the boy’s chin. From where Dean was eyeing him, the kid didn’t look like he appreciated it, but neither did he shrug Missouri off, either.</p>
<p>     <em>Smart kid</em>, Dean thought. <em>He knows who’s boss</em>.</p>
<p>     “And don’t you forget it,” Missouri added, finger wagging at Dean. When he turned to her, frustrated that she was<em> still</em> reading his mind, she put her hands up, a chuckle rising to her lips. “If you weren’t thinking so loudly, Boy, I might be able to ignore your thoughts. You Winchesters. You’re both the same, thinking as loud as a shout, both of you.” Turning back to the stove, she picked up the frying pan and dropped it into the sink, running hot water onto it as she went. Over her shoulder, she instructed, “Now, don’t you worry about that rumble, alright? I think your brother and that god are finally having a conversation. There’s something Loki’s been keeping from Sam, after all. Not that your brother isn’t a smart cookie. Of course he worked it out.”</p>
<p>     “What did he work out?” Dean growled, clenching his fists. He hated being left out of the loop, and here Missouri was, giving her mysterious psychic bull. Dean wasn’t having it. “What does Sam know?”</p>
<p>     “Now, that’s for Loki to tell you, and nobody else not even your brother,” Missouri scrubbed at the frying pan, the hand holding the sponge moving in slow, soapy circles. “So sit down and eat your bacon.” Turning, she sent him a knowing look, then gestured with her chin to his mug. “And drink your tea, Dean Winchester.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>……………………………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gabriel stumbled backwards in shock, powers flaring out in a tsunami wave, hand wrenching away from where he had pressed it over the new scar marring Sam’s back. Gasping, grace whirling around him enough that he felt sure the whole house must have felt it, the whole pocket universe even, he panted, an unusual quirk for his body to take on, but one he felt certain was the correct one. What he had seen, deep down in Sam’s soul, was <em>horrific</em>.  </p>
<p>     Slumped forward, head between his knees, hands cradling the back of his head, was Sam. He, too, was panting, though he didn’t seem as horrified as Gabriel was. That was no surprise, Gabriel knew, he hadn’t <em>seen</em> it. He hadn’t seen the damage.</p>
<p>     Pressed against the wall, eyes wide and fixed on the young hunter, he studied him, wondering how the younger Winchester could possibly feel alright. How could he possibly feel okay?</p>
<p>     “Gabriel?” he croaked, getting the name right this time, now that Gabriel had dropped his façade of Loki. Though, in his shocked state, Gabriel barely noticed. “What’s wrong?” he raised his head, already reaching behind him for the blade that Gabriel had summoned, just in case Sam would need the banishment sigil for archangels. Before Gabriel could stop him, the green-faced man had sliced a shallow cut through his palm, dipping fingers in to begin drawing. “Was it really that bad?”</p>
<p>     “There’s no demon blood,” Gabriel admitted, through barely-moving lips. His vessel felt numb, and only partially because he was still letting the grace well up properly within it. The rest was from the true horror of what he had found, “There’s no demon blood.”</p>
<p>     “That doesn’t make sense,” Sam said, sounding truly bewildered. He’d stopped moving to paint, and instead turned back to Gabriel, still a greenish-white colour. “I was fed it when I was a baby. It’s a part of me. I can’t… I can’t just <em>not have it</em> anymore, can I?”</p>
<p>     “Oh, don’t worry, Winchester,” Gabriel chuckled. To his dismay, his voice came out sounding accusing, cruel. It hadn’t been his intention, but he was still reeling, still trying to process what he had seen. “It wasn’t anything <em>you </em>did.”</p>
<p>     Sam’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click at that, and he hunched over back into his customary posture, the one he often held himself in, curled inwards as if he were trying to disappear.</p>
<p>     Shaking his head, Gabriel attempted to pull himself back under control. With his grace flying out around him, reeling and wheeling and spinning with the shock of what he had just felt, it took him a few moments to suck himself back in. Only once he had achieved that did he breath out the breath he had been holding with his concentration. Only once he had achieved that did Sam’s hair stop standing on end.</p>
<p>     Calmer, no longer pressed up against the wall, Gabriel informed Sam, “It’s like your soul has been <em>burnt</em>.”</p>
<p>     “Burnt?” Sam asked, sounding confused, but not duly horrified. “What does that mean?”</p>
<p>     “It means it feels like it’s been burnt, Winchester,” Gabriel informed him, folding his arms. He stalked a little closer, but Sam was apparently so exhausted that he didn’t move away. He only sat there, elbows on his thighs, blood still pooling in one palm, expectant expression on his face. “There’s a core that I can’t get to, the core of who you truly are, because there is a layer of crusted ash covering everything. And then there are the veins.”</p>
<p>     “Veins?”</p>
<p>     “Veins, Winchester,” Gabriel said gravely. Knowing the lip of his vessel was curling up in disgust but unable to help it, he informed Sam, “The demon blood ran like veins through your soul. But it’s not there anymore. There’s nothing there, anymore. It’s just emptiness. Ashy, burnt-out emptiness.” Taking a step back, Gabriel shook his head, whispered, “Your soul has been <em>mutilated</em>.”</p>
<p>     Expecting horror to fall across Sam’s expression, Gabriel was truly unprepared for the relief that he got instead. Though he was still looking sick, still shaking subtly, Sam leaned forwards. There almost seemed to be joy in his eyes, the green flecks within the hazel brightening with his happiness. It flicked between them in the air, dancing against Gabriel’s writhing grace, and he recoiled from it. Such pleasure over a soul as ruined as Sam’s had been was anathema, and Gabriel couldn’t <em>stand</em> it.</p>
<p>     “The demon blood’s gone?” Sam asked, voice a whisper, lips barely moving. “It’s not there anymore?”</p>
<p>     “You don’t understand, Winchester,” Gabriel informed him, voice harsher than it should have been. “This kind of damage will take <em>years</em> to fix, if it can even be fixed at all. Nobody should have this done to their soul, not even something like you.” <em>That </em>made Sam recoil, and Gabriel regretted it immediately. Just because he was as thrown as he was, that didn’t mean he had to be cruel. Softening his voice, he explained, “I just meant, you weren’t human. You were one of the few non-human things that had a soul, and most angels, <em>including</em> archangels, cannot stand that. But… Without the demon blood, you are human, now.”</p>
<p>     Again, Sam relaxed. In fact, he appeared <em>relieved</em>, face falling into his hands as he let out a shaky laugh. When he raised his head, Gabriel could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes, as if he were grateful to learn about such mutilation, as if it weren’t the very worst thing that could happen to a soul. Demon blood was one thing, but the destruction of his Father’s work like this, leaving a soul so damaged and still ticking? It would be kinder to destroy the soul in its entirety. It was a wonder Sam wasn’t a burnt out husk, but was alive and still talking.</p>
<p>     Talking enough to ask, “But… Then why can I feel people’s powers?”</p>
<p>     Almost on autopilot, Gabriel informed him, “You were always psychic. The demon blood latched onto that, twisted it. Without it there, the empty voids where it once was… Your powers are seeping out without anything to block them in. They’ll come back on their own, and how they were meant to be, now.” Without stopping to watch how Sam paled again, without even pausing for one of the unneeded breaths his vessel was so used to taking, Gabriel spun on his heels and stormed out of the room, informing Sam over his shoulder, “I need to talk to your brother.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>………………………</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Having forced down all the tea Missouri had made for him, her stern eye fixed on him the whole while, Dean leaned back, trying to tune out the questions Jesse was peppering the older woman with. It seemed as if he wasn’t interested in learning how to use his own powers, but her mind-reading powers fascinated him. Dean hoped that the boy didn’t pick any of his own up. It was bad enough having a god and a psychic around, after all.</p>
<p>     Pushing his empty plate back, smears of ketchup marring the surface of it, Dean patted his stomach, content. Well, as content as he could be. He was still in a god’s pocket universe, stuck with said god, an antichrist, whatever Sam’s son could be classed as, and two women who weren’t, ultimately, very fond of him. Not to mention how awkward things were going to be with his brother, for a while…</p>
<p>     As he was thinking, a hand landed on his shoulder, jerking him backwards off his stool. He stumbled again, this time saving himself less gracefully, then spun to face his attacker. It was the god.</p>
<p>     “What have I done now?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. He straightened up to his full height, glad that Loki’s vessel was quite as small as it was. Even if the god was majorly powerful, he still felt as if he were more likely to come out on top in a fight, towering over the god as he did. “I’m here aren’t I? Can’t you just leave me alone?”</p>
<p>     “What happened to your brother?” Loki snarled, something furious and burning behind his eyes. So full of rage was the god, that Dean actually took a step back.</p>
<p>     “What?” he asked, dumbstruck.</p>
<p>     “<em>What happened to your brother</em>?” Almost frothing at the mouth, Loki’s face was brought very close to Dean’s. Gulping, he took a step back, unfolding his arms so that he could raise his hands in surrender.</p>
<p>     “I don’t get it,” Dean admitted, turning his head so he could lock eyes with Missouri. From the greying pallor of her face, Dean figured she did understand, and it wasn’t anything good. “What’s wrong with Sam?”</p>
<p>     “His soul,” Loki bit out, teeth clenched and eyes wild. “It’s been mutilated. Burnt. <em>What happened to your brother</em>?”</p>
<p>     Shock ran through Dean at that, cold like ice in his veins. Wide-eyed, he turned back to Missouri, lips slack enough that his mouth was hanging open in shock. Not sure what to say, Dean just shook his head, the desire to find his brother rising up within him.</p>
<p>     About to reply, Dean was surprised that Jesse beat him to it.</p>
<p>     “It was that other man,” Jesse admitted, voice trembling slightly. When Dean turned to look at him, he was very deliberately not meeting Loki’s eyes, and Dean couldn’t blame him. The god looked terrifying, seething with rage as he was. Only when Missouri placed her hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to continue, did Jesse add, “He was scary. He pressed his hand to… to Sam’s back, and then… It was like Sam was glowing. He was <em>screaming</em>. It was—”</p>
<p>     Jesse cut off then, biting his lip<em> hard</em>, but it didn’t seem to matter. Loki had evidently heard enough, as with a sharp nod he disappeared in a flutter of what almost sounded like wings. Just as he did so, Sam rounded the corner, walking as fast as he apparently dared with Lindsey beside him, wailing baby clutched in his arms.</p>
<p>     Sam was just in time to see Loki go, it seemed, because he turned to Dean with a pale face and said, “Dean, you’ve gotta pray to Castiel. I think Ga—Loki’s going to do something. Something not good.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel is furious about what's been done to Sam's soul, so he decides to have a little chat with Castiel about it. An angry chat.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! Thank you for being so patient in waiting for this update, but I've been so busy lately. It's been a few years since I've been at school, so university work hit me hard this last month or so! Sorry! </p>
<p>Anyway, Supernatural ended, huh? I'm not sure how I feel about the ending. On the one hand, it kind of works, on the other, I feel sorry for Sam, having to live all that time without his brother, you know? What I also know is this: despite the sort-of-canon-sort-of-not Destiel thing that happened in Season 15, I won't be including it in this fic. I'm sorry, but I think I'm one of maybe five people in the world who just honestly does not see chemistry there, and so therefore I won't be writing it. Sorry if you were hoping for some, but I just... don't like the ship. Please don't hate me for that. </p>
<p>Finally, this is a short-ish chapter today, and it contains Castiel coming of maybe like a villain? Don't worry, he doesn't stay that way, because I do like Castiel's character, but he was, you know, more dangerous and badass in Season 4 and 5. Also, unlike a lot of fics that take the stance that Castiel and Gabriel knew each other well in Heaven, I decided not to go down that route. So, anyway.... </p>
<p>Like I said, thank you all so much for your patience, and I hope to start updating more regularly again (though, it is nearly Christmas, so...). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter. As always, comments are much appreciated. Thank you and enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Sixteen</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Furrowing his brow, Castiel tried to ignore Dean’s insistent prayer, tuning it out as much as possible. He wasn’t going to be answering him, not after what Dean had done, shooting him and then banishing him. After all, hadn’t Castiel just been trying to help? It wasn’t his fault that Dean’s abomination of a brother had come up with a different – worse – idea.</p>
<p>     Resisting the urge to lash out with his grace, something that was acceptable in Heaven, where it wouldn’t draw attention to him or destroy the immediate area – the motel that Dean had been staying in before banishing Castiel – Castiel held himself perfectly still. Drowning out Dean’s jabbering with the chatter of humans minds and voices, the twittering of birds, the scrabbling of animals, Castiel was surprised when he felt another sensation, one that niggled at his grace like a rock had once niggled at Dean’s foot, encased in his boot as it had been.</p>
<p>     Unsure what it was, he let his focus fall on it, perceiving it entirely as it was.</p>
<p>     There was something familiar about it, something that demanded, somewhere in his grace, for him to recognise it and obey. Panicked, he poised himself to fly away, an odd sense of fear that perhaps Lucifer had found him, was coming for him…</p>
<p>     But no. The anger of this ball of fury was too burning, too fiery. It was almost as burning as Michael’s, though there was no warrior rage there. It felt, as Castiel let the very edges of his grace brush against it, hoping to keep away from being sensed by it, almost like the anger was feeling <em>just</em>. Not righteous, like Michael would be, but <em>just</em>. For merely a moment, Castiel entertained thoughts of his fallen brother, the one who must have been killed by either Michael or Raphael, though neither one would admit to it, nor appeared able to even understand the loss of their third brother. </p>
<p>     So focused was he on <em>how </em>the sensation felt, that he didn’t notice as it grew closer, closer, until it was practically on top of him.</p>
<p>     Shocked, he found himself stepping backwards, as jerky as an angel’s movements could ever be, as the flapping of enormous wings filled the room, buffeted his grace around so as to disorient him, setting him reeling within his vessel.</p>
<p>     Through his turmoil, he could make out the sensation of something truly enormous, contained within a… was that a self-grown vessel? It was as large as an archangel, and just as powerful, but it didn’t ring of any of them, none that Castiel had known personally, not that he had known them at all beyond figures of command in a vast army. Narrowing his eyes, he centred himself, looked out with his human vision.</p>
<p>     In the middle of the room, burning fire behind his amber eyes, an expression of pure rage on his face, stood a very short man. Castiel blinked.</p>
<p>     “<em>You</em>,” the man was practically growling, a finger coming up to jab towards Castiel’s chest. He cocked his head to the side, studying the man with confusion. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Castiel.”</p>
<p>     “Who are you?” Castiel asked, summoning his angel-blade forth, despite fearing that it would do him little good. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>     “Who am I?” the man scoffed, a deadly glint of amusement running through him. Castiel didn’t gulp in fear, but he thought he understood why those cartoon characters Dean had been watching while despondently eating pizza that one time had. “Who am<em> I</em>? Who are <em>you</em>?”</p>
<p>     “Castiel, an angel of the Lord,” Castiel recited, metal of his blade thrumming with power under his palm. He was channelling grace into it, hoping he could build up enough power within it that it would be able to at least slow this creature down, even if he couldn’t kill it. “I warn you, I am armed.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah, yeah,” the small vessel waved it’s hand, as if Castiel’s words were no more than dust he was motioning away. “I’m going to ignore that last bit. I can see you’re armed. Though, if you think that little blade is going to do anything against me, you’d be sorely mistaken.” His smile was truly dangerous. Castiel wondered how such a small, friendly-looking vessel could achieve such a feat. According to Dean, even in his relatively tall and commanding vessel, Castiel just looked ‘constipated’ most of the time. The figure spoke again, drawing Castiel’s wandering attention back. “Let’s focus on the first bit. You’re an<em> angel of the lord</em>.”  </p>
<p>     Castiel gave a brief nod at that. He wasn’t sure where the being standing in front of him was going with it, so he opted not to say anything. If this wasn’t an angel – and honestly, Castiel was <em>certain</em> he’d felt this creature’s grace before, but the pagan magic mixed with it made absolutely no sense – then he was certain he wasn’t going to understand the creature. So far in all his time on Earth, Castiel had found no creature that he actually understood. Well, except cats, but that was besides the point.</p>
<p>     “Castiel,” the creature said, and there was no fondness there, though there did appear to be recognition in its tone. Indeed, recognition rang throughout its grace, clanging harshly against the pagan magic swirling within. “You’re an <em>angel of the lord</em>. Even as messed up as angels are, they know not to mangle souls the way you did!”</p>
<p>     Castiel wanted to argue, wanted to ask the creature how it knew that was a rule, but there was no mistaking. For all the non-grace aspects to this creature, it was one born largely of grace, and Castiel had to concede.</p>
<p>     “You are talking about the Abomination,” he confirmed, thinning his lips slightly. “He was in the way.”</p>
<p>     “In the way?” the creature cried, throwing his hands up. His jaw pushed forwards, a scowl twisting his lips. “<em>In the way</em>?” He strode towards Castiel, hand slamming against his chest and <em>pushing</em>. With barely any force exerted upon him from the front, Castiel found himself slamming against the wall with incredible pressure, plaster cracking around him and a particularly ugly painting fell off its hook. “You mutilated a soul, a human soul, because it was <em>in the way</em>?”</p>
<p>     The creature was standing so close to Castiel that he could feel the hot breath brushing across his face. Fury blazed in those fire-bright eyes, flashing sharp as blades and hot as magma, simmering under the surface. A dawning realisation stilled Castiel’s grace, had it moving glacially slow: if he didn’t choose his next words carefully, he might very well end up the same way as the abomination.</p>
<p>     “Would you not be glad?” he enquired, tilting his head to the side. The creature’s arm was still pressing against his chest, would be constricting his airways if he had needed to breath. Abruptly, Castiel was glad he didn’t need to. “Is the Abomination not a threat?” At the darkening on the creature’s face, Castiel hurried to add, “He is not dead. I went back to the house. He was gone.”</p>
<p>     “So was his idiot brother, wasn’t he?” the creature grit out, shoving Castiel back further. The plaster creaked ominously, and Castiel wondered distantly if he was going to be pushed right through the wall. “Did it not occur to you that he might have taken his body with him? Buried him? Burnt him?”</p>
<p>     Castiel blinked, confused.</p>
<p>     “Why would he do that?” he asked, furrowing his brow, head tilting even further to the right, as if he could perhaps see what the creature was talking about if only he was looking at it from a different angle. “He was angry at his brother. Wouldn’t he have left him behind?”</p>
<p>     “Would you have left your brother Annael behind?”</p>
<p>     At that, Castiel froze. It had been a long time, a long, <em>long </em>time, since Annael had identified as his brother. So long, in fact, that no creature that was not one of Heaven could possibly have known about it.</p>
<p>     Tuning out of the human reality, he fell back into his grace, reaching out tentative tendrils to try and identify the creature before him.</p>
<p>     It was difficult, with the grace before him popping and spitting like burning wood, like boiling oil, fury and rage and <em>fire </em>packed away within, flares of magic bursting out like sparks into the night. Briefly, Castiel spared a thought for what sort of havoc those flares were wreaking on the surrounding area, knowing that it would look exactly like the sort of case Dean would have taken, had he noticed it.</p>
<p>     Shaking that off, he tried to burrow deeper, finding tendrils of that seething mass batting him off at every turn. But still, Castiel persisted, sending out multiple coils of his own grace, hoping to catch the creature out. Here and there he was batted away, at other points grabbed and shoved back violently, but eventually he managed it. He found his way to the core of the creature, and he<em> knew</em>.</p>
<p>     “Gabriel?” he asked, then remembered himself. Lowering his head respectfully, he asked, “Sir?”</p>
<p>     “Well,” Gabriel growled, teeth clenched. It seemed he had acclimatised to his body far better than Castiel had, though<em> how</em>…? How was he even alive, let alone comfortable in his self-made body? Where had he <em>been</em>? How was he not <em>dead</em>? All those questions were roiling within Castiel, rising to the surface and only repressed due to the respect Gabriel’s position within Heaven’s armies demanded. It was just as well he didn’t ask them, Castiel suspected, because Gabriel was still furious, his vessel nearly vibrating with rage at this point. “<em>Would you</em>?”</p>
<p>     “Would I what?” Castiel asked, unsure what Gabriel was asking him about. “Sir?”</p>
<p>     “Would you leave your brother Annael behind? I know he outranks you, but I <em>know </em>you two were very close. If I had killed him, would you have let that go?”</p>
<p>     “Annael has not been my brother in a long time,” Castiel informed his brother, his superior. “She had identified as my sister for some time, but she betrayed Heaven and turned against us.”</p>
<p>     Gabriel squinted at Castiel for moments that felt like hours, narrowed eyes darting between both of Castiel’s before he threw himself backwards in disgust. The force of his movement pushed Castiel further into the wall, practically cementing him in place, plaster engulfing his frame. Meanwhile, Gabriel shook his head, sneer plastered on, letting out a scoff through his curled lips.</p>
<p>     “Angels,” he spat, shaking his head. “I forgot how much they disgusted me.”</p>
<p>     For all of Castiel’s insistence that angels didn’t feel emotions the way humans did, that sentence from Gabriel hurt all the same. Gabriel had been the angel he had looked up to, even if they had never been close, and the idea that he disgusted the angel he had admired most bothered him somewhat.</p>
<p>     Spinning back around, Gabriel jabbed a finger back at Castiel, making him flinch back into the wall that he had just been extricating himself from, blinking in surprise.</p>
<p>     “Can’t you see that this apocalypse is going to be bad for everyone?” he asked, throwing his hands up in the air. He was pacing, looking less furious now and more irritated. It almost seemed to Castiel that he was working something out. “Those stupid, idiot brothers – <em>including the Abomination </em>– are the ones who have it right.” He stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, one foot raised mid-step. Statue-still, he stood there for a moment, frozen in time. Then, slowly, a look of hopeless realisation on his face, he turned to Castiel. He looked upset, near devastated. “Oh Dad. I’m on their side.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>///////////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gabriel could not believe the conclusion he had come to about himself. Him, taking a side? Him, on the <em>Winchesters’ </em>side? What had the world come to? In an all-too-human move, he raised his palm up to press against his forehead, wild tangles of hair brushing against his fingers.</p>
<p>     Worse, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to disagree with what he had just realised. Just as he had said to Castiel, the Winchester brothers were absolutely right. Nobody else deserved to suffer just because God may or may not have had a plan at some point. Nobody else deserved to suffer because the brothers had been manipulated by both Heaven and Hell. Nobody else deserved to suffer just because Michael and Lucifer had to have it out, like siblings always did.</p>
<p>     Blinking slowly, Gabriel said, voice hoarse and just a bit stunned, “I’m on the Winchesters’ side.”</p>
<p>     “You have said that already, brother,” Castiel interrupted. Gabriel snapped his gaze up, slicing through Castiel like a dagger. The angel stopped peeling himself out of the wall, angel blade still clutched in one hand, plaster dust coating his shoulders and greying his hair. He looked kind of funny, though Gabriel didn’t feel like laughing. Underneath the bewilderment of his realisation, he was still fuming about Castiel’s choice to mutilate a soul in the way he had. “Though I admit I am confused. I thought the Winchester brothers were not on the same side.”</p>
<p>     Narrowing his eyes at the other angel, Gabriel studied him intently. Then, sighing as heavy a sigh as he could, hoping that the message would get across to Castiel, but suspecting the emotional display would be lost on him, he shook his head.</p>
<p>     “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, folding his arms. Once again, Castiel cocked his head. Gabriel wondered if it was a habit common of angels, and if so, if he himself did it. He hoped he didn’t. He didn’t want to be linked to any creature who was going to be going out burning holes in souls, after all. “They’re on the same side. They were fighting. They’re not enemies.”</p>
<p>     Castiel didn’t say anything to that, but the silence spoke volumes. Resisting the urge to tear at his hair – and honestly, it was a close thing – Gabriel growled through gritted teeth. <em>Angels</em>! They were so difficult to get through to, especially when they hadn’t spent quality time on Earth. The only one Gabriel was certain would at least <em>understand</em> him at that moment was Balthazar, though from the reputation that brother of his had built for himself, Gabriel suspected he would probably scoff at Gabriel’s entire argument.</p>
<p>     Defeated, grace still whirling with anger and shock both, Gabriel gathered himself. Prepared to fly away, to create himself a pocket universe where he could destroy things for a few hours, days, centuries (he would make sure time worked differently inside it, of course), he was entirely unprepared for Castiel to willingly offer his input.</p>
<p>     “I am on Dean’s side,” he stated.</p>
<p>     “Okay, <em>and</em>?” he asked, widening his eyes and shrugging his shoulders at this much, much younger angel.</p>
<p>     “If you are on Dean’s side,” Castiel continued, looking as if he were really struggling to work something out. Brushing his grace against the other angel’s, Gabriel found that there really did appear to be a struggle occurring. What was causing it, he didn’t know. “Then we are on the same side.”</p>
<p>     “Okay, <em>and</em>?” he asked again, gesturing expansively. Whatever the angel was getting at, he wasn’t understanding it. Perhaps a touch wilfully, but if Castiel wanted something, he could come out and ask for it.</p>
<p>     “Why not—” Castiel asked, before cutting himself off. Gabriel made an encouraging gesture, one he wasn’t sure that the other angel would pick up on. To help his understanding of it, he brushed his grace out as well, trying to keep the tumult of emotions from hitting Castiel, trying to keep the sensation only encouraging. Castiel appeared to gather himself, before asking again, “Why not join forces?”</p>
<p>     Gabriel considered being mean, considered eyeing Castiel up and down with a raised brow and asking him what he could possibly bring to the table. He was<em> so</em> close to doing it, had almost slipped into the motion, when he realised that, no. He couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when he’d firmly planted himself down on the Winchesters’ side. No matter where the help came from, they were going to need as much as they could get.</p>
<p>     Letting his head roll back between his shoulders, eyes fixed on the nicotine-stained, menacingly-cracked ceiling, Gabriel let out a long, loud groan.</p>
<p>     “Fine,” he sighed, holding up his index finger. “On one condition.” Castiel cocked his head, but made no movement beyond that. Reading it as a question, Gabriel commanded, “You stay away from Evan Winchester, you stay away from Sam Winchester, and you stay away from Jesse Turner.”</p>
<p>     “That’s three conditions.”</p>
<p>     Gabriel remembered, suddenly, why he had always been so stressed out by the angels under his command, back when he had resided in Heaven. They had always taken things so literally.</p>
<p>     “The idea is,” Gabriel stressed, arms folded over his chest, head dropped back to stare pleadingly at the ceiling again, “that you stay away from any of the partially demonic people on the team.” Tilting his head slightly, he added, “Granted, I don’t think Sam Winchester counts anymore, but you get the picture.”</p>
<p>     He waved the concern away with a lazy brush of his hand.</p>
<p>     “In that case,” Castiel asked, voice serious. His face was stern when Gabriel turned to look, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Should you not be thanking me? For ridding the world of the Abomination, I mean?”</p>
<p>     Rage seared up within Gabriel in a blinding flash, leaving him seeing, breathing, smelling smoke and flames. Before he knew it, he had thrown himself forward towards the other angel, one hand hooking into Castiel’s collar, pulling him down until they were face-to-face, the other wagging a dangerously rigid index finger in his face.</p>
<p>     “<em>Never</em>,” he hissed, grace seeping out into his voice in an echoing rumble. “Say that in front of me again. You mutilated a soul, even if it was a tainted one.” Letting go of Castiel, satisfied by the slight widening of the eyes and the subdued nod the other angel gave, Gabriel stepped back, wiping his hands together as if after a job well done. Giving a sickly sweet smile, he declared, “I can see Heaven has changed a lot, since I’ve been gone. Evidently not for the better, either, if angels are so ready and willing to destroy a human soul. Remember, there was a time when I delt justice upon those who did such a thing, and my justice was not kind.”</p>
<p>     “Understood, Sir,” Castiel practically bit out.</p>
<p>     There was a twitchiness to him, as if he wanted to right his suit and tie, but didn’t dare do it under Gabriel’s burning glare. To be honest, Gabriel didn’t blame him. He knew that he could be terrifying, if he wished to be, and there was something about seeing Sam’s soul with those empty patches where <em>something</em> should have been, even if it was demonic taint that made him want to be.</p>
<p>     Now, all that remained of those demonic patches of soul was voids, voids through which Gabriel was pretty certain he could coax powers to grow, if Sam were so inclined, but that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t imagine the way it must feel, to have nothingness contained within a soul. Just the thought of nothingness where his grace should have been made him feel physically sick, so much so that he wasn’t sure now which was worse. Looking at Sam and knowing what had been done to his soul, or the way it had been before, when the demonic taint of his soul had rubbed him the wrong way so viscerally.</p>
<p>     Shaking those thoughts off, Gabriel reached out and hooked a hand onto Castiel’s shoulder. Then, with as much self-control as he could muster, hoping not to knock the whole building down with the force of his take-off, Gabriel flung them into the air, through it, and straight into the pocket universe where their little rag-tag team would soon gain a new member.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabriel brings Castiel back. Dean has a revelation. And they begin the process of putting together a real team to fight Lucifer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! </p><p>Happy holidays to those of you who celebrate this time of year, and to those who don't, I hope you had a wonderful time still. :) </p><p>I'm sorry it's been two weeks (I think), but the end of this semester was busy, and then Christmas... Anyway, as the eagle-eyed amongst you will have spotted, I now have a chapter count up. I've used my time wisely to fully re-plan where this story is going. It's a less romantic version (though that will still be included) and more stopping the apocalypse kind of direction, but don't worry! Sabriel is still endgame, because I love them and I can't not. </p><p>So, anyway, updates should be more regular from now on. I'll try to make it every Saturday, but I guess we'll see. </p><p>Thank you so, so much to all those who have commented and left kudos! It means a lot to me, to see people enjoying this like that. As always, comments are much appreciated! I hope you enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Seventeen</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dean growled through gritted teeth as he prayed for the fifth time. Castiel still refused to respond. He didn’t know what he was waiting for exactly, a text, or a phone-call, or the angel to just appear right in front of him, but he didn’t really care. So angry was he with what he had learnt that he didn’t even think he was praying to the angel to save him from Loki, or if he were, only so that he could tear him limb from limb himself. What was it Loki had said? That Castiel had tried to <em>smite</em> his brother? How <em>dare </em>he?</p><p>     Sure, Sam and he hadn’t really been getting on lately, largely to do with the whole Ruby situation, and then the apocalypse on top of that, but how could the angel possibly think that Dean wanted his brother burnt to a crisp from the inside out?</p><p>     Furious with the lack of response, Dean pressed the knuckles of his clenched fists against the top of his head and growled again, barely noticing Jesse’s flinch from beside him, nor Lindsey’s unimpressed eye-roll. What good had she been, anyway? She’d only shown up in enough time to point the Colt at Dean, and not at the angel that had so obviously deserved it.</p><p>     “Dean Winchester, you stop that line of thought,” came a stern voice, a warning finger waggling in his face. “If for no other reason than you’re scaring the children.”</p><p>     That registered with Dean enough for him to take note. While he wasn’t impressed with the children in the little band they’d pulled together what with their demonic connections, Dean had always held a soft-spot for children, probably borne from his devotion to little Sammy when they had been younger. Even now, knowing that the children he was scaring – and he could hear the faint whimpers coming from Evan, who could obviously sense the atmosphere of the room, could see Jesse shrinking down within his own skin – were monstrous in nature, would probably turn on him the way Sam had turned on him not so long ago, Dean found he was helpless but to listen to Missouri’s instructions not to worry them.</p><p>     Calmer, he turned to his brother. “What else, Sam?”</p><p>     Sam looked up from where he was trying to gently rock Evan back into quiet contentment.</p><p>     “I don’t understand,” his brother admitted, big hand smoothing his son’s dark hair down. “What do you mean ‘what else’?”</p><p>     “What else are you not telling me?” Dean asked, knowing his face was contorting with frustration and anger both, but finding himself unable to do anything about it. “Why was Loki doing some soul-searching with you in the first place?” Sam froze, his face bleaching of all colour. A sure sign, Dean knew, that his brother had been trying to keep something secret and had been caught in the act. “Sam, tell me.”</p><p>     “Because…” he trailed off, biting his lip. Even from across the room it looked painful, white bloodless patches appearing on the chapped skin. It was a wonder Sam hadn’t sprung up blood. “Because…” Dean felt another growl rising in his throat. Why was his brother always so unwilling to share things with him, huh? He was just about to snap at him when Sam took a deep breath and admitted, eyes closed and head bowed, “Because I noticed my powers were coming back.”</p><p>     Dean froze.</p><p>     He pulled a deep, calming breath in.</p><p>     Then, with the calmest voice he could muster, he asked, “What?”</p><p>     It sounded flat.</p><p>     Sam didn’t say anything, just looked up at him with those ridiculously sad eyes, the ones that held sparklingly wet apologies, seemingly so heartfelt, but Dean knew that those apologies wouldn’t <em>be there</em> if they were heartfelt, because Sam would have changed his behaviour if he were truly sorry about these things.</p><p>     Teeth clenched so hard he could feel them grinding, Dean wrapped his numbing fingers around the seat of the stool he had been perched upon, before Loki had ripped him so callously from his seat. Muscles bunching, he prepared to lift, to throw, to <em>wreck </em>– only to be stopped by a hand splaying down on the middle of it, firmly pressing down, no arguments to be had.</p><p>     “You throw that chair, Dean Winchester, and I’ll have Loki throw you out of here so fast you’ll get windburn,” Dean looked up, met a tight-lipped face a mere few feet from his. “Don’t you think I wouldn’t.”</p><p>     Then, from behind him, Dean heard the much more annoying tones of a familiar voice, one he still had yet to find common ground with.</p><p>     “You’re really going to behave like such a brat?” she asked. Hands still clenched tightly around the edges of the seat, Dean took a peek at her from the corner of his eye. She had her arms folded across her chest, one hip thrown out to the side and her head tilted, ragged hair tumbling messily around her ears. “So Sam has powers, so what?”</p><p>     “They’re <em>demonic</em>,” Dean stressed, finally unclenching his hand to throw an accusing finger Sam’s way. Sam still had his head bowed, his shoulders practically touching his ears. It almost seemed as if he hadn’t heard the accusation, and Dean would have believed it too, if it weren’t for the way Sam’s frame had gone extremely, extraordinarily, still. “He has<em> demonic</em> powers.”</p><p>     “<em>I </em>have demonic powers,” the kid piped up, body hidden most of the way behind the other stool.</p><p>     Not really sure what he was supposed to say to him, Dean just pressed his lips together and raised a single eyebrow. He was rewarded by Jesse shrinking back further, which made Dean feel a pang of guilt, but he wasn’t wrong, was he? After all, Sam’s demonic powers had led to an apocalypse. Surely there was nothing good that could come out of any of this, any of them.</p><p>     “It’s not—” Sam piped up, almost catching Dean off guard. He turned his raised brow to his brother, waiting to hear what Sam had to say on the matter. Sam seemed to be gathering himself, but eventually he lifted his head, shaggy hair falling forward over his forehead. He made no move to brush it away. It niggled at Dean as he studied him. “It’s not demonic, Dean. Loki said the demon blood was burnt right out of me.”</p><p>     Staring at his brother, Dean didn’t know what to believe at first.</p><p>     When he first heard the words, Dean opened his mouth to protest them, but then he paused. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Sam,<em> really</em> studied him. From the open expression on his face, the soulful tilt to his eyebrows, even the apologetic tilt to his head, it was obvious that what Sam was saying was what he <em>believed</em> to be the truth. He wasn’t guilty like he was hiding something, where his jaw would set hard and jutted and his eyes would darken. No, this was honest, open, sorry Sam, and Dean would recognise it anywhere, instantly. This was the truth he was being told, at least in his brother’s eyes.</p><p>     But that begged the question, was it actually the truth? Had Loki lied to Sam? Dean didn’t know the god well enough to make a judgement there. Though, from the fury in Loki’s expression, his voice, his movements, when he had jerked Dean backwards off his stool and revealed what had happened, Dean didn’t think so. That hadn’t been the rage of someone who had lost an opportunity to exploit what they had wanted to exploit.</p><p>     No, there on Loki’s face it had been written clear as day, now Dean cast his mind back to it. What Loki had worn on his face was revulsion of an action so heinous, so disgusting, he couldn’t believe it had been done. But there was more, wasn’t there, Dean realised. Because that wasn’t just disgust and general outrage on someone else’s behalf. That had been fury that someone the god <em>cared</em> about had been hurt. Dean didn’t know if it was because of the loss of Sam’s demonic powers, or if it was simply the state his soul had been left in – and now Dean was sorting out his feelings on Sam’s powers returning, the rage about that was bubbling up violently again, no longer simmering on the backburner he’d placed it on – but he was sure now, sure that Loki hadn’t lied to Sam.</p><p>     But if Loki hadn’t lied to Sam, then that meant…</p><p>     “Yes,” Missouri agreed, snapping Dean out of his reverie. He whipped his head around, no longer staring through his brother, but instead meeting the serious, though no longer angry, just stern, eyes of Missouri. A small pale hand was folded into her own, Jesse pressed against her side and looking wary. Dean gave him a wan smile, then gave his attention back to the psychic. She was saying, “And you know as well as I do, Dean, that there is nothing inherently wrong with psychics.” She paused, judging how welcome her next phrase would be, Dean suspected, then added, “Even your Daddy didn’t hate psychics just for being psychic.”</p><p>     While John had been a rarity on that front, Dean knew Missouri was right. That had been something John had instilled in him from a young age, one of the rare things John had told him that Bobby had reinforced. A pang for Bobby’s situation zipped through Dean, but he shook it off. Bobby would be safer kept away from the situation for now, unless Dean could get Loki to help. But no. That was something for a different time.</p><p>     Turning back to Sam, Dean took a deep breath. A faint hint of coffee still clung to the kitchen air.</p><p>     Carefully, so as not to spook his brother, Dean stepped closer. Lindsey stepped forward with a warning sound, trying to block Sam with her own body, but his giant of a brother gently nudged her aside, placing his son in her arms as he did, effectively forcing her to stay out of the way.</p><p>     From the look on his brother’s face, it was clear he was expecting a punch. A shock of guilt sank Dean’s stomach, and he let it pull him down, but he didn’t let it stop him. Slowly, he reached out for Sam, hand pressing to his upper arm. Searching his brother’s eyes, he saw the ever-changing colours merging into that hazel it had always been when Sammy was a baby, the hazel that Dean always held great affection for. Sighing, shaking his head, he hooked his hand around the back of Sam’s neck instead, huffing an unamused laugh when Sam mirrored his actions, pressing their foreheads together. Sam’s was chilled, his soft skin pressing against Dean’s own hotter skin in lines, interspersed with his itchy, shaggy hair.</p><p>     “So the blood was a part of your soul, huh?” Dean asked, quietly. It felt too intimate a conversation to be having whilst watched by two near-strangers (sure he’d met Missouri, but only a few times) and a kid. Luckily, the woman must have picked up on that thought, because she began ushering everyone towards the door. “What’s left where it should be now?”</p><p>     “Nothing.” His brother shrugged, diminished shoulder muscles moving Dean’s wrist up and then down. Sam needed to eat more, needed to get back to working out. “There’s just… emptiness, I think.”</p><p>     “But the powers are yours?” Dean pulled back, searching his brother’s eyes, needing to see the absolute truth behind them. “That’s what Loki said? That these powers are yours?”</p><p>     Sam nodded, breath no longer fanning warm across Dean’s skin. He was holding his breath, waiting for Dean’s reaction, he could tell.</p><p>     When Dean didn’t say anything, he finally explained, “The demon blood created new pathways for its use, I think. Loki didn’t say. But I guess… I guess I’ll get to learn how to use them in my own way, now.”</p><p>     Hope was dancing through his tone, thick and heavy. It slunk through the air and into Dean’s ears, sneaking inside and weighing his heart down. He couldn’t tell Sam not to use his powers now, not after the way that hope of Sam’s had taken hostage of Dean’s heart (he would never tell anyone that, of course. They didn’t need to know that he had his own, internal chick-flick moments.).</p><p>     Besides, the powers in-and-of themselves weren’t bad, were they? Dean <em>knew </em>that. He did. With only Sam at the helm, no demon blood to manipulate him, to cloud his mind, surely Sam would use them in the right way. After all, even a Sam that had had a demon-addled mind since infancy had made the right decisions morally more often than even Dean could boast. His powers, free from any influence the blood made, would only be used in the way Sam saw fit, after all. Sam a hunter, Sam a good guy, Sam his<em> brother</em>.</p><p>     Dean nodded.</p><p>    “Okay, Sammy,” he agreed, resisting the urge to shake his head when Sam pressed their foreheads back together, whispering his thanks in hot spans of breath across Dean’s face. “I trust you.”</p><p>     He winced.</p><p>     Then, before he had time to think about what he had just said, about whether that was true of only Sam’s use of his own powers, or all of Sam’s decisions from then on, the air pressure in the room changed.</p><p>     He threw himself backwards, ripping himself out of his brother’s grasp, spinning around only to see a god and an angel, standing on the other side of the kitchen island.</p><p>     Without even pausing to think, Dean threw himself forwards, fist-first.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>/////////////////////////////</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sam felt himself still again after Dean said those two words. ‘I trust you’. He wasn’t sure how true it was, wasn’t sure how true Dean thought it was, but it didn’t matter. Hearing them again, coming out of his brother’s mouth, it was amazing. Uplifting. It would give him the strength he needed to carry on when his self-doubt and self-recriminations brought him down too far, he knew. So happy was he to hear it, that he barely even noticed the change in the air pressure.</p><p>     When he finally did, he was only just in time to throw himself forwards after his brother and pull him backwards. Not that it really helped. One of Dean’s fists was wrapped in Castiel’s coat, white-dusted material crumpling under his grip. The other fist was raised to smash against Castiel’s jaw, and while Sam briefly considered the satisfaction it would bring him for the pain Castiel had caused him, he decided it was ultimately not worth the trouble. After all, Gabriel must have brought him back for a reason.</p><p>     Fingers clenched in his brother’s belt, Sam tugged him backwards as Gabriel stepped forwards to catch his brother’s fist, effectively stopping the punch that Dean was going to throw at the angel.</p><p>     “Come on, Sam,” he groaned, when Sam tugged him backwards, roughly pulling him over the island surface and placing him back on his feet, cringing when the stool tilted sideways and created a loud clattering when it finally lost its battle with gravity and careened into the floor. “The dude burned your soul. Gotta make sure he doesn’t do it again.”</p><p>     “Oh, Deano, Deano, Deano,” Gabriel tutted, before Sam could say anything. “That’s all very well and good, but you think I haven’t already given him the talk?”</p><p>     Dean narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, licking his lips in what was obvious preparation for a cutting remark, and Sam found himself stepping between them with no conscious thought, the edge of the island pressing into his hip with how close he had to be to it so as not to be standing on his brother’s feet.</p><p>     “I reckon I could do it better,” Dean retorted over Sam’s shoulder, before stepping around him. He folded his arms across his chest, ragged green flannel stretching over his tense muscles. “I mean, I’m the one who cares about him, right?”</p><p>     “Could have fooled me,” Gabriel retorted, sending a sickly-sweet smile Dean’s way and hopping up onto the counter the other side of the island, leaving Castiel to stand rumpled and alone in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I mean, weren’t you the one who made him go his own way, where <em>anyone</em> could find him? Even little old me.”</p><p>     “Alright, that’s enough,” Sam said sternly, cutting his arms through the air in front of him. To his surprise, it effectively halted arguments from both sides, leaving Dean looking sulkily at the floor and Gabriel looking curiously at him. It made him squirm a little, though Sam didn’t think it was in a bad way. Pausing, he ordered his thoughts, then asked, “Loki, you brought Castiel here. Why?”</p><p>     “Loki?” Castiel asked, drawing Sam’s attention back to him. He looked ragged and… yeah, he was definitely dusty. He hadn’t been wrong earlier. Just what had Gabriel done, that he was left covered in what appeared to be plaster dust? Had he thrown his own brother through a wall? Memories of wrapping his own hands around Dean’s throat clawed their way to the forefront of his mind, making his stomach churn uncomfortably, and he shoved them back, though not before they made him ache with guilt. He had no right to judge Gabriel’s actions at all, did he? Not after what he himself had done. Castiel’s voice drew his attention back. “This is not Loki. This is—”</p><p>     “Alright, alright,” Gabriel snapped his hands together, a nervous giggle bubbling its way up his throat and spilling past his lips. Sam didn’t think he’d ever heard it before. It was oddly endearing. “I think that’s a conversation we’re going to need to have with everyone here, so… you can come back into the room now, guys!”</p><p>     Whipping his head round in shock, Sam watched as Missouri, Jesse and Lindsey shuffled back into the room. Missouri had a dignified expression on her face, but Lindsey and Jesse were both looking a reddening mixture of embarrassed and worried. Sam shifted but didn’t move, refusing to feel ashamed of the emotional display he and his brother had put on earlier. Dean would feel that way enough for the both of them.</p><p>     “As our new… <em>friend</em>,” Gabriel stressed, though he didn’t sound any happier with the situation than Dean’s huff suggested <em>he</em> was, “Was about to reveal, I’m not actually Loki. Except that I am. Kind of.”</p><p>     “<em>That</em>,” Dean pointed out, as Sam slid past him, intent on righting the stool seeing as he already knew the revelation about to be had and therefore didn’t have to pay much attention to it, “is incredibly unhelpful as explanations go.”</p><p>     “Shut up and maybe he’ll get somewhere,” snapped Lindsey, and Sam repressed a sigh. There was something about Lindsey and Dean that rubbed the other the wrong way. Constantly. He shook his head, kneeling down by Jesse to enquire how he was now that the earlier fighting had stopped. His quiet murmur was almost buried beneath Lindsey’s irritated, “<em>Honestly</em>.”  </p><p>     “Would you two pipe down?” Missouri asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Loki has something to tell us all. Your bickering is helping nobody, least of all yourselves.”</p><p>     As both Dean and Lindsey opened their mouths to presumeably argue some more, Sam stood up, Jesse leaning into his leg as he did so. He ruffled the kid’s hair, sending an encouraging smile down towards him, before gesturing to Lindsey. With some distracted cooing on her part, she handed Evan back to Sam. Having his son in his arms made him feel calmer, even if only slightly.</p><p>     “Right, <em>anyway</em>,” Gabriel continued, after a sizeable pause. Castiel’s head was turning between the group of squabbling humans and the archangel swinging his legs back and forward in an almost nervous manner on the counter. Sam found it tricky to suppress his amused snort. It wasn’t the time for it. “There’s another Loki out there. One that is <em>actually</em> Loki. I am Loki too, of course, I have Pagan magic, I took over the job, I am the Trickster, I created all the tricksters hunters fight…” he paused again, looking almost shifty. Then, lifting his chin in a way that invited no argument, he added, “But I was also someone <em>before</em> I became Loki.”</p><p>     Nobody spoke, but looking around at the faces turned towards Loki, Sam saw a fair number of raised eyebrows. Only Jesse, when he checked with the kid, wasn’t raising an eyebrow. He just turned a worried expression up at Sam. He didn’t blame the kid. Loki really was dragging out the reveal, though Sam understood why. If he were explaining to someone that he actually had had demon blood making up his soul in the past, he would want to explain everything as much as he could before revealing the damning fact.</p><p>     “I was—”</p><p>     “Gabriel,” Castiel cut in, clearly impatient. When Sam turned his eyes on the angel, he was standing stiffly, jaw set and shoulders held higher than normal as if he were waiting for punishment, like a soldier who had disobeyed orders. “The archangel Gabriel.”</p><p>     Cries of surprise and outrage rose up in the room. Through the racket, Sam could pick out Dean declaring all angels dicks, and archangel-gods even more so. He could also hear Gabriel tearing into Castiel. He wasn’t surprised. Only Missouri remained quiet, and when he turned to look at her, her steady gaze was met by his own. She had figured all this out earlier, just as he had. He could tell.</p><p>     Eventually, the clamour died down, allowing Gabriel to be heard once again.</p><p>     “Well, that wasn’t quite how I had planned that revelation, but I guess Cassie figured he’d take matters into his own hands. Again.” He fixed his penetrating stare on the angel, and to Sam’s surprise Castiel shifted uncomfortably. The angel normally held himself so stiffly, Sam hadn’t even been aware that Castiel <em>could</em> react in such a way. Directed at Castiel, Gabriel added, “Which is <em>not</em> what I brought you onto this team for, Castiel. If you’re on the team, you’re working with us, not around us for a vaguely similar goal, got it?”</p><p>     Castiel didn’t say anything, but his silence gave all the answers needed. It was the shame of a public scolding that was keeping him quiet.</p><p>     “Team?” Dean chose that moment to interrupt, tilting his head to the side in a way reminiscent of Castiel. “What team? There’s only four people here who could possibly do anything at all to stop the apocalypse.” He paused, then apparently thought better of it, because he added for Missouri, “No offence.”  </p><p>     “None taken,” Missouri assured, turning to face Gabriel. “He’s not wrong.”</p><p>     “Well, that’s the thing,” Gabriel began, voice entirely too cheerful for what was being said. “About the team: we’re going to have to make it. Anyone got any ideas?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>///////////////////////////</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Half an hour later, after a brainstorming session at the table, Missouri watched as Sam changed Evan and held a half-conversation with Jesse, talking to the child about having powers and whether that made you evil or not. Missouri would have liked to have shared her two cents on the matter, but she knew that Jesse wouldn’t welcome her input right then, thinking her <em>too</em> reassuring, so much so that all of her assurances didn’t appear believable to him anymore.</p><p>     Sighing, she focused back in on the conversation happening at the kitchen island. Gabriel had planted himself down on the surface, lying on his stomach and kicking his legs in the air, writing down ideas on a whiteboard that he had summoned out of nowhere. To her surprise, even when he leaned forward over the whiteboard to snatch a cupcake off of the plate he had summoned, nothing smudged off of it. Clearly, it was more than a mere whiteboard. Gabriel turned to her and gave her a wink, and she shook her head.<br/>
     <em>It is difficult sometimes</em>, she mused, <em>to believe that this creature is an archangel</em>.</p><p>     Gabriel chuckled, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes as they sparkled at her, before turning back to the whiteboard.</p><p>     “So that’s Singer, Balthazar, Samandriel and Annael,” he clicked his tongue, using the pen to scratch behind his ear. Golden strands of hair flopped forward, no longer gelled back as they had been that morning. Briefly, Missouri caught a snatch of thought from Sam, about how Gabriel’s vessel looked better like that, but she shoved it away. She had been trying her best to respect Sam’s privacy, especially when he got so little choice in any other matters. That thought, she noticed, got rewarded with another, warmer smile, from the archangel lounging between them all. “Any other ideas? Sam-a-lam?”</p><p>     “Huh?” Sam startled, drawn from his conversation with Jesse. “Uh… Did you have Ellen and Jo on that list?”</p><p>     “Not Jo,” Dean interrupted, and Missouri wondered if Sam would be hurt by how quick Dean was to jump in and nix his ideas, until Dean continued. “You know Ellen would kill us if we brought Jo into this.”</p><p>     “You’re right,” Sam agreed easily, allowing Missouri to relax. She hated the brothers fighting, wished they would go back to how they had been, back when she had first met them while they were searching for their father. “But still, Ellen.”</p><p>     Dean nodded, confirming the name again with Gabriel, and the archangel scrawled it onto the whiteboard with his spidery script.</p><p>     “I have concerns about recruiting Annael,” Castiel surprised everyone with his announcement, including Missouri’s. While she could still grasp emotions from the angels, it was much harder to read solid thoughts from them, even when their shields were very obviously down. Castiel had his up, and was therefore an impenetrable barrier. She wondered if he’d ever feel comfortable enough amongst his new allies to loosen up. Deciding she didn’t care all that much, she focused back on the conversation and heard, “There were rumours that Annael has begun to believe that destroying—” he paused, thought about it, continued, “—Samuel Winchester, will be the best way to stop the apocalypse.”</p><p>     “Exactly!” Gabriel said brightly, even as Missouri noticed Dean and Lindsey’s tensing postures, heard the cries of outrage and disbelief within their heads, “She wants what we want. We should be able to talk her around.” Head tilted, Gabriel peered at Castiel. “You said she was more interested in free will than any other angel you’d ever met.”</p><p>     “Clearly I had not realised you were alive,” Castiel said dryly. Missouri didn’t need psychic powers to know that Castiel having a dig at his ‘superior officer’ (as he had referred to him earlier). “Otherwise I would have described her as the second-most.”  </p><p>     “Oh, I’d put her as third-most, at best,” a lazy hand waved away Castiel’s statement, and Missouri couldn’t help the way her own eyes crinkled at the amusement dancing behind Gabriel’s eyes as he watched the younger angel. “After all, Balthazar certainly doesn’t spend his time amongst you dullards in Heaven now, does he?”</p><p>     Castiel said nothing, but Missouri could see he conceded the point graciously. It was Lindsey she could sense who was reading themselves to say something.</p><p>     It only took a few moments for Lindsey to blurt out, “But what about Samandriel? I’m assuming he’s an angel. I thought… Well, I kind of thought that they wanted the apocalypse to happen.”</p><p>     “She’s right,” Dean agreed, surprisingly to Sam, Missouri noticed, but not to her. Yes, she knew, Dean did have a problem with Lindsey, and Lindsey had a problem with Dean in return, but that didn’t mean Dean didn’t listen. At least, not when it came to planning forms of hunting. “Why this angel?”</p><p>     Gabriel pressed his lips together, but didn’t say anything. Missouri tried to read something, anything from him, but it was an impossible feat. From his raised eyebrow, Missouri knew he hadn’t appreciated the attempt, so she gave him a bland smile and gave up, instead leaning forward to press her hands against the table, fingers splayed wide, stretching her hands silently.</p><p>     When enough time had passed, Sam asked, curiosity thinly veiled in his voice, “Gabriel?”</p><p>     The archangel met Sam’s gaze for a few moments, resolve tight and chiselled on his features, but Missouri watched as it slowly softened, became resignation with his own inability to keep things from the younger Winchester – yes, she had snatched that by accident, probably due to the frustration Gabriel experienced it with – when faced with his puppy dog eyes.</p><p>     “Samandriel is one of the youngest of the angels,” Gabriel explained, sighing. He uncapped his pen, doodling what appeared to be resolving itself into a golden retriever on the whiteboard. “Dad made him almost last. He was a sweet thing. Latched on to me. Followed me around like a lost puppy. If he knows<em> I’m</em> asking, I’m hoping he might…”</p><p>     “He’s your little brother,” Sam breathed out in realisation, words coming out as a revelation.</p><p>     So much so, in fact, that Missouri noted how Jesse was wondering if <em>he</em> would ever get a little brother, if he could grow up to be a big brother to little Evan, regarded with so much awe, if Sam would allow that, if Evan would want that. It was sweet, she supposed, but not something for her to dwell on. There were more important things going on than peering into a confused child’s innermost thoughts.</p><p>     “He’s my little brother,” Gabriel confirmed, fondness shining behind his eyes. “My own Sammy.”</p><p>     He grinned at Sam then, a beam brighter than any smile he had sent Sam’s way before. Missouri could hear the way it ground all Sam’s thoughts to a halt, left him flustered and confused. She could also hear Dean’s very real snort and see his eye-roll, could hear the slightly less charitable thoughts about the way Sam and the archangel were behaving, though there was nothing downright mean there. In fact, there was understanding, deep down inside. Missouri could tell. Dean was thinking about how important it would be to him, going to fight a war and having his little brother on his side. For once, Missouri realised with relief, Gabriel and Dean could agree about something.</p><p>     It was only once the smiling had gone on for a slightly uncomfortable amount of time that Missouri coughed politely, sharing an amused smile with Lindsey, who was just as entertained as she was by the display Gabriel had been putting on.</p><p>     “I think Dean has something to ask,” she covered for herself, finally paying attention to that niggling sensation that Dean had been giving off near constantly since he had arrived. “Go ahead, Boy.”</p><p>     A glare was sent her way, but then Dean took a deep breath and nodded, turning to Gabriel with an almost-sneer on his face. Missouri knew that he didn’t like asking the archangel for things.</p><p>     “We can ask Bobby, but only if you can do something for him,” Dean’s tone was disrespectful, almost disgusted, and Missouri resisted the urge to sigh. She hoped she knew Gabriel well enough to know that he wouldn’t refuse to help, even if he was asked rudely, unless someone were asking for something awful. “He’s been paralysed. He doesn’t want to fight it because he thinks he’ll be in the way, slow us down. Heal him.”</p><p>     “Bobby’s hurt?” Sam asked, face paling. Missouri half-climbed out of her chair as Sam’s grip slackened, reaching forward as if she could stop Evan from falling. Luckily, Jesse was there, ready to steady Sam’s grip on his son. Arms tight enough around the baby to stop him from falling again, Sam turned a hurt expression on his brother. His voice was wobbly when he said, “You never told me that. Is it… Is it my fault?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter Eighteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam, Gabriel and the gang are putting together a team to take on the Apocalypse. It's all going fine, until Sam gets some surprise visitors, neither of which he's pleased to see.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy (belated) New Year everyone, </p>
<p>I was meaning to post this yesterday, but then I got a notification from my uni saying that I had four pieces of work overdue. Which, you know... I'd already completed and uploaded them to the system, so I had to sort that out, instead. Anyway, that distracted me from having the time to proof-read the work, but I've got it done today. </p>
<p>Anyway, I think this chapter is mostly filler, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. As always, thank you to all those who have left kudos and comments. They're much appreciated! Please feel free to leave comments for this chapter, too. Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Eighteen</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam tried not to sigh as he tucked the blanket around Evan and left him in Jesse’s care. He had given careful instructions on how to feed and care for his son to Jesse, and the young boy had just finished reciting them back to him, a milk bottle (one that Gabriel had assured him would remain perfectly warm for however long they were away) in his hands.</p>
<p>    It wasn’t like they were going far, just into the next room over in fact, but Sam didn’t like leaving children alone in a potentially dangerous situation. First off, he and Gabriel were starting out on the first leg of their mission – summoning Samandriel – and second, the abandoned building they were in was, frankly, disgusting. Sam was fairly certain that they would all catch diseases just from breathing in the dust-heavy air.</p>
<p>     Pressing his lips together tightly, he patted Jesse on the head, greasy strands tickling his fingers. The boy needed a wash, hadn’t had one since they’d rescued him Sam suspected, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Everything had been so hectic, and Sam knew what young boys were like anyway. They never wanted to take a bath.</p>
<p>     With one last look thrown over his shoulder at the two kids huddled together in the middle of the cold concrete floor, he ducked under the doorway and into the main room.</p>
<p>     In it, Gabriel was putting the finishing touches on a summoning circle that, he had informed Sam with some degree of smugness, was capable of summoning a specific angel. Gabriel had apparently been particularly proud of it, because it was a ritual that had managed to remain unwritten in any earthly books, he had claimed, even the Men of Letters books, whoever they were. Sam had been too distracted to ask. After all, he had just recently learned Bobby was hurt.</p>
<p>     Nobody had given him a satisfactory answer when he had asked if it was his fault. Dean had fallen silent, looking guilty himself, while Castiel had sent an accusing glare his way. Lindsey had immediately scrambled to point out that it couldn’t possibly have been his fault, what with him having been with her for the last few weeks, and Missouri had simply told him to knock that kind of sorry-for-himself attitude off. It hadn’t helped, and Sam suspected Gabriel had known that somehow, because the angel had spent more time than had been usual recently joking around, and in ways that didn’t target Sam as the butt of the joke as well.</p>
<p>     As Gabriel stood up he clapped his thighs, leaving rainbow-chalk handprints behind. That did cause a minor jolt of amusement to shoot through Sam, twitching his lip upwards minutely. Trust Gabriel to summon an <em>angel of the lord</em> with a child’s art supply.</p>
<p>     “Why the long face, Sammo?” Gabriel asked, throwing the chalk stick over his shoulder. No sound arose from the chalk hitting the floor; the angel had vanished it as it arced through the air. “You’re about to do something no human has ever done before.”</p>
<p>     “You’ve done all the work,” pointed out Sam, shoving his hands into his pockets. He shuffled closer, wishing he had worn a jacket. The air was chilled inside the warehouse, his breath clouding in the air. He was glad for the warmed blanket Gabriel had snapped up for Jesse and Evan. “You wouldn’t even show me what we were drawing.”</p>
<p>     “Ah, see,” a finger waggled in Sam’s direction, teasing grin spread over Gabriel’s features. “I have great faith in the capability of that brain you’re carrying around in your noggin. You learn how to draw it, and it’s recorded in books on the occult for all time.”</p>
<p>     “You could always burn the book,” Sam drew closer to the archangel, grateful for the distraction he was providing. His feet scuffed over the concrete with a rough dragging sound, and he winced. Picking his feet up, he checked to make sure he hadn’t smudged any lines.</p>
<p>     “You’re fine,” Gabriel assured him, patting him on the back. “No harm done.” Hands clapped together, chalk-powder puffing out from around them. Sam suspected it was Gabriel’s powers and his sense of the dramatic more than his hands actually being that dusty. “Now, let’s get this show on the road.”</p>
<p>     Hands spread in front of him in a way that reminded Sam of religious murals, palms upward and open, Gabriel summoned a book. It was heavy, yellowed pages covered in hand-inked writing, almost like a medieval tome. It was only upon closer inspection that Sam noticed anything amiss with the pages. In the beautiful edge-work, Sam saw pictures of lollipops, candy-canes, cupcakes and cookies.</p>
<p>     When he raised a brow at Gabriel, the angel only winked at him, a gleam in his eyes.</p>
<p>     Sighing, Sam shook his head and stepped back, arms folding over his chest. Gabriel was chanting already, Samandriel’s name audible amongst the Enochian phrasing. Trying not to listen, Sam let the guttural sounds wash over him, not wanting to go against Gabriel’s wishes. From what his mind did stick on, he suspected he wouldn’t have been able to repeat the phrasing anyway. It felt like burning in his ears; Sam suspected that to pronounce it would be to roughen his own throat until it bled.</p>
<p>     Eventually, Gabriel stopped talking, and Sam took his first comfortable breath as the colourful summoning circle began to glow, cold-white blinding him, setting his eyes to watering. An ice-scent permeated the air as Sam squeezed his eyes shut, tears tickling his cheeks, and then pressure began building up, heavier and heavier, as if Sam were standing in the middle of a balloon that was about to burst.</p>
<p>     And then, to his astonishment, it all just stopped.</p>
<p>     It wasn’t as if the pressure had burst, but simply as if it had never existed in the first place.</p>
<p>     When Sam peeled his eyes open, the first thing that caught his attention was the black lines on the floor, burnt in place, no longer chalky-bright. Slowly, he panned his eyes upwards, sight catching on a pair of sneakers in the middle of the circle, and then jeans, a red uniform, a bright cap, and a blondish head of hair under it. Sam blinked. The vessel this angel had taken was surprisingly sweet-looking, and surprisingly young.</p>
<p>     “He’s not that young,” Gabriel whispered out of the corner of his mouth, lips held almost still, head leant towards Sam’s. “He’s young for an angel, but he’s still millennia old.”</p>
<p>     “Stay out of my head,” Sam hissed back, keeping his eyes on the angel. He didn’t think any danger was particularly imminent, but it never hurt to be prepared. An angel was still an angel, no matter the vessel, just as a demon was still a demon.</p>
<p>     “Can’t help it,” Gabriel admitted, raising his hands in supplication when Sam turned a cutting glare on him. “You think loudly. I’ll teach you how to shield that, later.”</p>
<p>     Sam merely hummed in response, part of him fully aware of what that teaching would entail. Gabriel purposely trying to get into his head didn’t seem like a fun idea. After all, the archangel was unpredictable, and while he certainly seemed friendly enough for the time being, there was no guarantee that he wasn’t going to turn on them at any moment.</p>
<p>     “Relax,” Gabriel waved an unconcerned hand at Sam, stepping back and around so that he was fully facing Sam’s profile, apparently forgetting that he was meant to be talking to Samandriel, who was still waiting patiently in the middle of the circle. An embarrassed chuckle made its way out of Gabriel’s mouth, and Sam could see a sheepish expression spread across the archangel’s face from the corner of his eye. Gabriel reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Right, yeah… Little bro.”</p>
<p>     “Excuse me,” Samandriel finally cut in, drawing both Sam and Gabriel’s attention back towards him. “How do you know that summoning ritual?” Upon noticing Sam’s confused look, the angel added, sounding as sad as Sam suspected the angel knew how, “It was Gabriel’s personal summoning. I could sense it. Yet Gabriel has been long dead.” </p>
<p>     Sam threw a raised eyebrow at Gabriel, who was evidently keeping his identity hidden from the angel. He shrugged shamelessly.</p>
<p>     “Have to keep a cover somehow,” he admitted, stepping closer to the circle. “I mean, Lucy, Mike and Rafe would notice me instantly otherwise, wouldn’t they?” He grinned at Samandriel, arms stretched out wide, twinkle in his eyes. “Hey there, Sammy? Missed me?”</p>
<p>     There was a pause, and then Samandriel asked, sounding almost incredulous to Sam’s trained ears, even if that had seemed impossible with every other angel he and Dean had encountered before, “<em>Gabriel</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>/////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I still do not understand why we could not have flown.” Castiel remarked for the third time since Gabriel – and seriously, the <em>archangel Gabriel. Who would have thought, huh?</em> – had plopped him and Dean into the Impala. Dean ignored him again, trying not to notice his stiff and upright posture in the passenger seat, the place where Sam was meant to sit, not where people who<em> tried to burn his soul away sat</em>. Normally, they got the trunk. And then a nice <em>long</em> dirt nap. Valiantly, Castiel continued, “It would have been far quicker.”</p>
<p>     Frustrated beyond measure, Dean tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the leather beautifully supple under his palms from years of wear. It barely soothed him.</p>
<p>     Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the angel opening his mouth again, and his teeth clenched without his permission, an awful grinding noise echoing in his head.</p>
<p>     Finally, he snapped, “For fuck’s sake, Cas!”</p>
<p>     The angel only blinked at him, that look of innocent curiosity on his face, as if he had done nothing wrong. Dean <em>hated</em> it.</p>
<p>     “We’re driving because Bobby’s gonna be suspicious enough as it is. You wanna plop us popping up out of nowhere on top of that?” he raised an eyebrow, glaring at Cas as best he could from side-on. When the angel made no indication of understanding, Dean rolled his eyes and added, “Besides, you think I’ll let you bippity-boppity-boo me anywhere after what you did?”</p>
<p>     Castiel repeated the phrase ‘bippity-boppity-boo’ back, tone questioning, but Dean ignored it. He was getting really good at ignoring the things that made him mad, he thought. Though really, he knew, he’d have to get even better if he was really going to be working with a bunch of angels, Castiel, that Lindsey woman<em> and</em> Gabriel. He had his work cut out for him.</p>
<p>     Breathing out slowly, Dean pressed just a little harder on the accelerator, letting the purr of Baby soothe him somewhat. She ate up the miles, never faltering, and Dean finally managed to relax, especially because Castiel was no longer asking questions, instead staring maybe-gloomily, maybe-contemplatively out of the window. Whatever it was, Dean didn’t care. Castiel would have to be sorry first, and it didn’t seem like that was going to happen any time soon.</p>
<p>     Eventually, the familiar scenery of Sioux Falls appeared in the distance, shimmering like a mirage. Glad to see it, Dean sped up even more, not even stopping to consider cops, gunning through the town like a madman. He was desperate to get to Bobby’s salvage yard, desperate to be out of the oppressing atmosphere in the car. Dean felt like he had been sitting on a ticking time-bomb for the whole journey, one whose only method of safely stopping it was to remove the angel from the vicinity, and within the car that just wasn’t likely.</p>
<p>     Luckily, they had finally arrived at Bobby’s, so finally Dean could relax. Well, somewhat.</p>
<p>     With a sigh, Dean leaned his forehead against the wheel, the leather soft against his skin. Then, sucking in a deep beath, he opened the door and stepped out, resisting the urge to slam it shut. It wasn’t Baby’s fault that he was in a bad mood, and he wasn’t going to take it out on her.</p>
<p>     Outside the Impala, Dean resisted the urge to curse again. His feet had sunk into a slug-brown sludge of a puddle, water creeping inside his shoes and dampening his socks. Letting his head fall backwards, he squeezed down his fingers on the edge of Baby’s roof until he could feel the bones creaking, almost at the point of snapping. God, it had been a difficult day.</p>
<p>     Steadying himself, Dean managed to splash his way out of the puddle, only to be sucked into awful, clinging mud with a greedy squelching sound. It took some effort to move through it, but Dean couldn’t complain. It wasn’t like Bobby could come out and work on the driveway at the moment, not least because the last time Dean had seen him he had been in the sort of funk that Dean figured he wouldn’t have clawed his way out of yet. Not that Dean blamed him; he just understood.</p>
<p>     Finally at the porch, Dean climbed the rickety steps, conscience of the damp-wood smell meeting his nose, the way the stairs creaked and groaned under the combined weight of him and the angel, the one who – Dean had thrown a glance backwards – had somehow managed to miss standing in a puddle. That, he thought, was entirely unfair.</p>
<p>     Turning back, he knocked on the door, and then waited for Bobby to open it.</p>
<p>     When the door did open, it was with both a harsh thump against a wall and with a cold splash of water, right to the face.</p>
<p>     “What the Hell, Bobby?” Dean snapped, running his hands over his squeezed-shut eyes. When he opened them, droplets of water clung to his lashes, blurring the world beyond. “What was that for?”</p>
<p>     “Can’t be too careful,” the old hunter grumped. He didn’t move from the doorway, though his eyes did narrow dangerously. “And where the Hell have you been, anyway?”</p>
<p>     That hit Dean enough to make him sheepish. Rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, he merely shrugged. Bobby rolled his eyes so hard Dean was concerned he was going to lose them, but he finally rolled back in the doorway.</p>
<p>     “I suppose you better come in then,” he said, though he didn’t sound happy about it. Peering around Dean, he added, “Still not found that brother of yours?”</p>
<p>     He didn’t sound approving, and Dean knew why. Bobby had been against the two of them splitting up in the first place, and it was only Dean’s stubborn refusal to change his mind about it that had had Bobby falling quiet on the subject.  </p>
<p>     “Actually,” Castiel said, as he stepped through the doorway after Dean. Whereas Dean was leaving large muddy footprints in Bobby’s corridor, where the angel walked remained immaculate. Dean rolled his eyes. “We have found Sam. That is why we have come to speak with you today.”</p>
<p>     Bobby gave Dean a long, hard stare. Shifting uncomfortably, he moved past Bobby and into the living room. There, he threw himself down on the faded couch and leaned his head against the back of it.</p>
<p>     “Found Sam?” Bobby asked, wheeling himself into the room. Castiel followed behind him, looking as blank as always. “Where is he? Why ain’t he here?” </p>
<p>     “He’s busy,” Dean explained, waving the thought away with a heavy hand. He let it collapse back to the arm of the sofa. “We’re putting a team together. We figured you’d want in.”</p>
<p>      Bobby levelled another look Dean’s way, assessing, piercing.</p>
<p>      Finally, he spoke.</p>
<p>     “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on, Boy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>///////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After Gabriel had talked Samandriel into joining their cause (it had been surprisingly easy. It was astonishing to Sam how quietly pleased the younger angel had been to learn that Gabriel wasn’t dead, with no malice over the fact that Gabriel had faked it for millennia), the archangel had sent the younger angel back to his pocket universe, with instructions to make himself at home. After that, he had snapped them to another building, Evan in his carry-seat in Sam’s arms, Jesse clinging to Sam’s jeans with small fingers.</p>
<p>     Now, they were outside of a mansion. Most of it looked to be in a state of disrepair, but there were clearly lights on in some of the rooms, flickering enough that Sam knew it was candle light, not electricity.   </p>
<p>     “Mr Balthazar is in there?” Jesse asked, turning an uncertain look up at Sam. Sending a reassuring look to the boy, Sam turned to Gabriel, who nodded. Jesse bobbed his head a few times, then licked his lips, before asking, “Are… Should Evan and I stay out here?”</p>
<p>     “Not this time, Kiddos,” Gabriel grinned, though Sam could see that there was a strain behind the twinkle in his eyes. “It’ll be safer where we can see you, here.”</p>
<p>     “Safer?” Sam asked, then turned a glare on Gabriel. “Gabriel, I told you, I want to keep the kids out of danger.”</p>
<p>     “You’d rather I’d have brought Dean?” a golden eyebrow raised, an unamused expression meeting Sam’s own. “No offence, but your brother isn’t exactly the welcoming committee that I’d want.” He thought about it, then added, “Neither is Castiel. As for Missouri and Lindsey…”</p>
<p>     Sam knew what Gabriel was getting at. Neither Missouri nor Lindsey were trained enough to take on an angel, though Sam wondered how Gabriel figured he would be capable of doing so with children to protect. It would have been better if he had stayed behind in the pocket universe, but then Sam realised that he would be alone in the house with two part-demonic beings while angels were being sent in. It actually made sense that he and the kids were in the vicinity of the angels while negotiations were taking place, as that way the angels wouldn’t be surprised later.</p>
<p>     “Now you’re getting it,” Gabriel patted him on the shoulder, an almost-apologetic grin spread across his face. Sam pretended he couldn’t see it. The archangel merely laughed, shaking his head as he declared, “I know, I know. Stay out of your head.” Sobering up, he added, “Seriously, you’re being very loud today. I can’t help it.”</p>
<p>     Sam <em>was </em>going to have to take him up on that shielding lesson, after all.</p>
<p>     “Now, shall we go inside?” Gabriel asked, clapping his hands together sharply and then rubbing them. “I’m sure Balthazar already knows we’re here.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Sam agreed, detaching Jesse’s fingers from his jeans and holding them in his hand instead. Then, with a determined nod, he said, “Let’s get this over with.”</p>
<p>     “Attaboy,” Gabriel grinned, before pulling open the front door. Sam smelt the burnt-air that often came with Gabriel’s magic, and knew that the door had previously been sealed shut. Poking his head around it, Gabriel called out, “Balthazar! Won’t you come talk to us? We have a proposition for you!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>/////////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lindsey blinked in surprise as she and Missouri appeared in a parking lot outside of a busy-looking bar. The sign above the door called it the Roadhouse, and from the people lingering outside the door, Lindsey got the distinct impression that they were hunters. They were very similar in their form of dress to the Winchester brothers, and more, all of them were giving Missouri and Lindsey a very suspicious look, the sort that Lindsey had seen Sam direct at complete strangers regularly.</p>
<p>     Either everyone was a hunter, or Gabriel – and that was <em>still</em> surprising to her – had plopped them down outside of the most paranoid bar Lindsey had ever encountered.</p>
<p>     “Come on, Girl,” Missouri said, surprisingly friendly in comparison to how she usually spoke to Lindsey. “Let’s get this over with.”</p>
<p>     Together, they headed towards the bar, and Lindsey wished she had brought some form of weapon with her, even if she didn’t know how to fight like a hunter. After her experiences with Tim, Reggie and Steve, she didn’t feel safe around these people.</p>
<p>     “You’ll be fine,” Missouri informed her, leading the way through the door. It was dim inside, and the air was somewhat smoky. It reeked of whiskey, as if nobody inside ever drunk anything else. “I may not have met the Harvelles, but I have heard about them from John Winchester. They’re good people.” She paused, thought about it, added, “As good as any hunter can be, anyway.”</p>
<p>     “John Winchester?” Was there another brother? Her foot caught on something, distracting her. Seeing what it was, she wrinkled her nose down at the floor. Her foot caught on some gum. She managed to pull her shoe away and scrape it over the floorboards, but from the look the blonde bar-girl was giving her, it wasn’t an endearing move she had just made.</p>
<p>     “Sam and Dean’s father,” Missouri was distracted, that same expression she got when she was purposefully reading minds coming over her face, eyes hazy, brows furrowed. After a moment, her features cleared, and she headed towards the bar. Lindsey trailed along behind her, trying to keep her face neutral when Missouri stopped in front of a tough-looking, somewhat intimidating woman, serving drinks behind the bar. “Ellen Harvelle?”</p>
<p>     “And you are?” the woman asked, running a ratty cloth over a glass in her hands. “Not seen you here before.”</p>
<p>     “I’m Missouri Moseley,” jumping straight in with honesty, Missouri’s voice was firm, deliberate. Lindsey didn’t know how she did it. After all, Ellen Harvelle was a very intimidating woman. Missouri continued, unperturbed, though she did throw a slightly smug look (presumably about her ease of ability to deal with Ellen) Lindsey’s way as she said, “I’m a friend of the boys.”</p>
<p>     To Lindsey’s surprise, Ellen didn’t need any further explanation than that. Once Missouri had said those words, Ellen’s response was to say, “What are those two fools up to now?”</p>
<p>     Again, Missouri took the lead in explaining the story. She ran through the apocalypse (Ellen already knew about that), stopped to take a sip of wine that Ellen put down in front of her – Lindsey hadn’t even thought that a place like this would sell wine – and carried on, explaining about how the boys were putting a team together, about how Missouri and Lindsey had been sent out on recruitment duty.</p>
<p>     Ellen had been a little annoyed that the boys weren’t recruiting themselves for a moment, but Missouri easily explained it away, her posture self-assured. As Lindsey watched, Missouri seemed to become more and more certain, and it wasn’t long before she was sitting at the bar as if she owned the place, or more accurately, as if she didn’t<em> care</em> who owned the place. It was amazing to Lindsey, especially as she threw her gaze around the room, eyes catching on all the people who must have been hunters, all of whom looked dangerous in their own right, but hardly at home. They all seemed to want to disappear into the shadows, almost to stop existing, and not for the first time Lindsey was struck by how lonely a job hunting seemed to be.</p>
<p>     “It’s not that bad,” a voice by her ear surprised her, and she jumped. Pressing a hand to her chest, Lindsey turned her head to the side, finding the bar-girl from earlier standing next to her. “It’s new, believe it or not.”</p>
<p>     “What’s new?” Lindsey found herself asking before she could stop herself, a desire to speak as little as possible to anyone in the bar sinking deep into her bones.</p>
<p>     “This bar,” the girl gestured around with her head, folding her arms in the process. There was something about her that screamed of the same toughness as the woman behind the bar. “The first one burnt down, you know?” Lindsey hadn’t known that, so she shook her head. “Yeah, it was the last time those idiots were involved in world-ending stuff.”</p>
<p>     Lindsey didn’t know anything about that and frankly, she didn’t want to ask. Instead, she introduced herself, holding out her hand for the other girl to shake. When their palms brushed, Lindsey felt the calluses on the girl’s skin, similar to those on Sam’s hands. Lindsey found herself asking if the girl was a hunter.</p>
<p>     “Part-time,” she responded, shrugging. She didn’t meat Lindsey’s eyes, and it seemed almost as if her cheeks tinged pink a little, when she added, “My mom doesn’t like it.” At Lindsey’s confused look, the girl added, “I’m Jo. Your friend there? She’s talking with my mom.”</p>
<p>     Nodding, Lindsey remembered the recruitment conversation they had had before coming out to do just that.</p>
<p>     “Right, Jo,” she nodded, putting her hands on her hips. She was unsure what to do with her arms, so it wasn’t long before they were folded across her chest, then relaxed, her fingers hooking around the open edges of her leather jacket and holding on, elbows tucked into her sides. Shifting from foot to foot, she added, “Dean said you weren’t to get involved.”</p>
<p>     “Dean said that, did he?” Jo asked, a stern eye-brow raising. Lindsey bit her lip, sure she had somehow stuck her foot in her mouth. “We’ll see about that.”</p>
<p>     A voice cut into their conversation, one tinged with amusement, one Lindsey new well.</p>
<p>     When she turned to look, the amusement was sparkling in Missouri’s eyes, twitching the corners of her lips upwards.</p>
<p>     “I thought you might say that, Dear.” She began, taking another sip of the gold-tinted wine. “I think this is a conversation you might want to join in with, don’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//////////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Sam backed away from Lucifer, hands stretched out in front of him. The only thought running through his mind was: </em>don’t say yes, don’t say yes, don’t say yes<em>. It wasn’t helping. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>     Stumbling backwards, he felt chills sweep through his body, a cold sweat beading up in his skin like diamonds, sticking his shirt to his back, his hair to his forehead. It itched, and he wanted to brush it away, but all he could do was hold his arms out, ward away the Devil. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Stay away,” he cried out, the ghost of flames licking along his limbs, his muscles spasming in terrible memory. “I won’t say it. I’ll never give you permission.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Lucifer murmured, shaking his head in a mockingly sad manner. “You shouldn’t have let your little pagan friend leave you alone. I can get to you now.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Sam cursed himself, continuing to stagger backwards through the darkness surrounding him. He wasn’t worried about bumping into anything solid. The space around him gave the impression of vast emptiness, of there being absolutely nothing at all, ever, save for him and the Devil. Sam chocked on his own breath, feeling it clogging up his lungs like water.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “All I want to do is help you, Sam,” Lucifer’s voice had gone soothing, soft. “I just want to prevent what’s going to happen.” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in pity. “I just want you to know what will become of those children that follow you everywhere, if you don’t say yes to me.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Don’t touch them,” Sam wished his words had come out as a growl, but they came out only as a whisper. He tried to draw another breath in, but it was as if all the air in the darkness had vanished. His chest spasmed, his throat clicked, and Sam felt his eyes beginning to water. “Whatever you do, don’t touch them.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Lucifer assured him in a voice that was far from reassuring. Hands hooked loosely behind his back, he stepped closer, strolling forward as if he had no care in the world. “That’s the problem, Sam. If I don’t touch them, look what they’ll become.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     Lucifer clicked his fingers, the sound echoing in the emptiness surrounding them. Nothing happened. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     At least, that was what Sam thought, until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, felt the sweat on his skin begin to freeze into real ice, falling to the floor in a shower of little plink, plink, plinks. Adam’s apple high in his throat, unable to swallow, Sam felt his mouth dry out. He closed his eyes, his body feeling like it was sinking. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “I won’t look,” he told Lucifer, raising a trembling hand to cover his eyes. His skin was clammy, his palm sticking to his face. “I won’t see.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “Oh, but Sammy, you will,” there was a rushing sound like wind through a valley, and then Sam felt his body being spun around, his hand being batted from over his eyes. The smell of rot began to fill his nostrils, only worsening when a hand that was just a little too soft in the most unpleasant way tilted his chin up. Eyes squeezed shut, he tried to squirm out of the Devil’s grip. “Open your eyes. Look at them, Sammy. Look at the monsters.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>     “No,” Sam shook his head. Before him, it felt as if certain death were waiting. Unable to see the figures before him, but being somehow conscious of wings and teeth and glowing, slitted eyes, Sam shook his head. “No. No. No. No. N—” </em>
</p>
<p><em>     “</em>Sam<em>!” Came a voice. It was Jesse’s, no hint of malice in it. No, instead Sam could hear fear. Refusing to open his eyes, determined not to fall for the trick, Sam shook his head again. Jesse only shouted louder, and Sam became aware of tremors wracking his body so violently that he was knocked out of Lucifer’s grasp. “</em>Sam<em>!” Stumbling to the floor, Sam hit his knees hard, the jarring sensation causing his breath to whoosh out of him at last, his eyes to peel open, his body to fling itself forward.</em> “Sam, wake up! There’s someone at the door!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>/////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the momentum of his dream, Sam flung forwards in bed just the same, almost knocking his forehead against Jesse’s. The young boy was shaking him frantically, his worried eyes darting between the crying Evan and the rattling door. The wards above it were glowing, the same bright-white light that had been produced when he and Gabriel had summoned Samandriel.</p>
<p>     Throwing himself out of the bed, almost tripping as he found himself tangled in the thinning grey blanket, Sam staggered forwards, pushing Jesse behind him. In his head, he sent a prayer up to Gabriel, who had left them behind earlier to speak to Castiel about an idea he had had, one that related to Heaven or something in it. Whatever it had been, Gabriel had assured them of their safety before he had left, promising to pick them up from the motel after they had all rested (he didn’t want to send them back into a house of angels without being there to supervise) and snapped the wards into existence over the peeling geometric wallpaper.</p>
<p>     Now, the wards were burning out, slowly, one by one.</p>
<p>     Frantic, Sam reached under his pillow, fingers searching desperately for the blade he had stashed there while he slept. Heart beating fast, he cursed when he couldn’t find it, not wanting to take his eyes off the door. Suddenly, his hand was no longer under a pillow, it having been flung away, and before he knew it small fingers were pressing the blade into his hand, allowing his lungs to clear, enabling him to take a steadying breath.</p>
<p>     Just in time as well, it seemed, because suddenly the wards flared so brightly that Sam’s eyes slammed shut without his permission, and then the light died down. All of it. There wasn’t even a lamp lit once the white light had vanished, nothing to see by, only instincts and hazy memories of the room’s layout to go on.</p>
<p>     But, it turned out, Sam didn’t even need that. Because just as he was about to guide him and Jesse to the light switch, a massive bang rang through the room, causing Evan to cry even louder, wriggling around in the cot as he was. To Sam’s surprise, Jesse ran to him, scooping up his tiny frame and gently cradling the baby with Evan’s head in the crook of his neck.</p>
<p>     He was only distracted by the sight for a few moments when a familiar voice turned sinister said, “Sam Winchester.”</p>
<p>     “Anna.”</p>
<p>     “Found you.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter Nineteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam, Jesse and Evan are missing, and Gabriel is going to find them. Meanwhile, Sam, Jesse and Evan have all found themselves somewhere far different to the motel room they had just been in.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! </p>
<p>I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last updated. It has been a very hectic time for me, and I apologise so much! It's been snowstorms, birthdays, accidentally getting stuck at the neighbour's house for over twelve hours due to a rain storm, exams, and, (because of course she did), that cruel, cruel Writer's Block came to stay, and I couldn't get rid of her for a while. </p>
<p>Anyway, I'm so sorry about the wait, but here's the next chapter. I hope it lives up to expectations (if there were any). </p>
<p>As always, thank you so much to all those who have left kudos and commented. Comments are always appreciated. Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Nineteen</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The moment such a strong panic entered her vicinity, Missouri felt it. It was almost like being trapped in a vice, all her calm being pushed out with how compact and solid her own fear became. She knew that sensation, knew who was scared, and if <em>they </em>were scared…</p>
<p>     Shaking hands extended too swift to watch, a clack announced her glass firmly down on the counter. She may have been scared, but that didn’t mean she had to show it. Though, from the look of concern rolling in like clouds of thunder across Ellen’s face, Missouri suspected she had not been as successful as she had hoped.</p>
<p>     It wasn’t long after she herself became more drawn together that the door to the bar swung open – loudly. Next to her, Lindsey flinched, then turned around wide-eyed. Her expression darkened, but her shoulders untensed, lowering to a near-relaxed position. <em>Good</em>, Missouri thought, <em>better she’s learning to stay alert</em>. Yet still Lindsey’s education in how the real world worked saddened Missouri.</p>
<p>     With Dean in the doorway, face thunderous, Missouri didn’t even need to reach out with her mental powers to know what had happened.</p>
<p>     “Where is he?” she had opened her mouth to speak, but the air for them never escaped her lungs. That voice was too roughened, too gravelly to be hers. Behind her, Missouri heard as a cloth stopped squeaking over glass, as the vessel itself was placed upon the bar with a loud crack. “Where’s your brother, Dean?”</p>
<p>     “That’s it,” Dean growled. Around her, Missouri could sense the curiosity rising like fog in a swamp. A Winchester bursting into a hunter’s bar? Even Missouri had the good sense to know that these hunters would be talking about it for years to come. Ignoring the whispering hum of their clamour, she patted the barstool next to her. As Dean hurried over – Missouri would <em>almost </em>say he was stumbling, yet he was a hunter, he didn’t stumble – another figure slunk in behind, smaller, but no less sure of himself in his footing. This was the one who’s fear she had felt, overwhelming all other emotion. Fortunately, his emotions were drawing inwards, compacting themselves back down into his vessel. As Dean was walking over, he jabbed a furious finger over his shoulder, scowl fixed firmly in place. “<em>That </em>idiot lost him.”</p>
<p>     “Actually, Deano,” Gabriel responded, voice chirpy. Despite that, Missouri could sense the way his grace was swirling, escaping from its carefully concealed lock-box within. His panic was going to bring danger down on all of them if he wasn’t careful. Archangel shaped danger. “I didn’t lose your brother.”</p>
<p>     “You weren’t there,” Dean growled. Missouri, though she tried her best not to show her surprise, found her head snapping towards Gabriel in time with her three companions’ heads. He had left Sam <em>alone</em>? While the Devil was hunting him? “And now, Sammy isn’t there, either.”</p>
<p>     “Where’s Evan and Jesse?” Lindsey asked, voice taught, a string about to snap. “Where are they, Gabriel?”</p>
<p>     Before the archangel could answer, though he had opened his mouth to do so, a new voice broke in.</p>
<p>     “Who is this, exactly?” Jo folded her arms across her chest, leaning her weight onto one hip. Missouri caught her eyes darting to Dean and back again, quick enough that she wouldn’t have notice at all if she hadn’t been feeling the desire for approval rolling off the girl like waves. “And who are Evan and Jesse?”</p>
<p>     “We don’t have time for that now, Sister,” Gabriel snapped off, barely even glancing her way as he stepped up to the bar. For once serious – an expression that meant there was no twinkle in his eye, no curl to the corner of his lip – he asked Ellen. “Well, did you decide?”</p>
<p>     “So you’re the big guy on side,” Missouri could sense no amusement in Ellen’s no-nonsense mood, yet a corner of her mouth quirked up. Assessment in her eyes, she looked Gabriel up and down, then quirked a challenging eyebrow. “Name’s Gabriel, huh? Any relation?”</p>
<p>     Gabriel’s serious countenance cracked, a grin splitting his face. His grace didn’t settle, still turbulent, but Missouri did have to give it to him: he was excellent at distracting himself.</p>
<p>     “Clever, too,” the angel turned his head Dean’s way, a calculated sneer settling over his features like a well-worn mask. Missouri resisted the urge to turn her nose up. “You Winchester boys certainly have some good friends.” Elbow on the bar, casual lean adopted, he turned a conspiring grin towards Lindsey. Lindsey gained Missouri’s approval when the blonde did not return it. Rolling his eyes, Gabriel turned back towards Dean, prodding at a sleeping bear. “I don’t know how you managed it.”</p>
<p>     Shaking her head, fingers tucked tightly into the sleeves of her cardigan, Missouri folded her arms. From the glare she was giving the back of Gabriel’s head, she was surprised with how long it took him to turn around. Seconds passed, seconds in which the patrons of the bar watched on in morbid fascination. A hope for entertainment was seeping off them, like alcohol seeped from their pores and into the air, tainting the scent of it, and Missouri found herself silently begging for restraint.</p>
<p>     “Gabriel, you came here to fetch us,” she pointed out, voice more strained than she had expected it to be. “So, tell us what you need us to do.”</p>
<p>     “I know where Samsh—” he bit his lip, then shook his head, surprise flashing across his face, too fast to really register. “I know where Samarina is,” he repeated, steadier. “I just need your help when we get there.”</p>
<p>     Missouri could hear Dean’s incredulous thoughts. An archangel? Need <em>their</em> help? Luckily, there was at least one other person in the room with good sense.</p>
<p>    “Well then,” Ellen determined, sliding the half-cleaned glass from the bar to its hidden underbelly. “I guess we better shut up shop.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>///////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A groan rose from deep within his chest. Mattress hard as concrete, Sam shifted. Briefly, he wondered why he was wearing flannel in bed, before everything flooded back to him at great speed. It was like a tidal-wave of information, a tsunami of panic. Scrambling upwards faster than he ever had in his life, Sam span around. Anna. The kids. What had happened?</p>
<p>     “Evan?” he called. Cars trundled past on the road, old-fashioned, spitting pungent exhaust fumes. Must have been a convention of some sort. It didn’t matter, not right then. “Evan? Jesse?”</p>
<p>     “Sam!” came a familiar voice. Sam span around again, almost tripping over his own feet. Relief ebbed the tide, settled him somewhat. There was Jesse, with Evan bundled safely in his arms. “Sam—”</p>
<p>     The kid had opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Sam had barrelled his way towards both kids, lowering himself so he could scoop them both up into a hug. Jesse made a startled sound, the sound of a punch in the solar plexus, but he hesitantly wiggled one of his arms free, tucked it around Sam’s back. Pressing the kids close, smiling at the quiet gurgles of Evan, Sam only held tighter when Jesse’s fingers wound into the crumpled fabric of his flannel, and breathed in the scent of baby and laundry detergent. It was nice, to be sure that the kids were safe, were with him. Sam thought he could understand why his dad had always wanted him and Dean in his sight, now.</p>
<p>     A sound startled Sam, and he pushed himself back from the kids and into a defensive position before the door had even finished opening. The kids had been standing on a doorstep. He should have figured that they had rung the bell.</p>
<p>     Standing back, Sam took a look around. It was familiar, eerily so. He hadn’t even looked at the person standing in the doorway, though he could practically sense their impatience. It tingled over his skin like ants. But there were more important things, like why he thought they were… Sam blinked. It couldn’t be, could it…? <em>Could </em>it?</p>
<p>     Swallowing, throat tight, Sam lowered his gaze from the house, down and down… and then down. A face stared back at him, one Sam would know well one day, once it had gained time in fine lines, stories in a network of tiny scars, more familiar than the back of his hand, but fading every passing day. There, standing before him, was his father. His young father.</p>
<p>     “Can I help you?” John asked, inspecting Sam from toe to head, no matter that he had to tip his head backwards to do it.</p>
<p>     “Um…” Sam racked his brains, turning a pleading gaze on Jesse and Evan. Realising that they would be no help at all, Sam tucked his hands in his pockets, then untucked them, then tucked them again. How had Dean done this, back when he had been thrown back in time? An epiphany struck. Dean had said that Mary had been a hunter, hadn’t she? Maybe she could help… And Sam would be able to spend some time with his own mother, too, even if she didn’t know who he was. The idea of it, it was almost too much. “Um… Sorry,” he was stumbling over his words, fumbling with the feelings swirling and swooping through his chest. “Sorry, I’m um… I’m here to speak to Mary. Mary Campbell.”</p>
<p>     “Winchester,” John corrected, eyes narrowing. He didn’t look as if he were inclined to call for her. Voice hard, he asked, “If you don’t mind, who are you?”</p>
<p>     “Oh, um…” Sam had always struggled with lying to his father. It was why they had always gotten into such enormous fights. He couldn’t hide the way he was feeling around John, and often wondered why he even ought to. This was different, though. This John didn’t know he was Sam’s father, hadn’t even known Sam would exist at all, until Sam had woken up lying on the sidewalk in front of his house. “I’m an old friend of the family.” Sam wondered what name Dean had given, back when he had shown up the last time. Racking his brains, he chose the first surname he could think of. “Sam Milton.”</p>
<p>     “Mary doesn’t talk about her family since they died,” John still sounded suspicious, door still held half-shut between them. Idly, Sam wondered if their was a gun pressed to the other side, but suspected that despite having been a marine, the hidden gun was a habit John had picked up <em>after </em>he had taken up hunting. “But I never even heard of you before that.”</p>
<p>     “Um…” Sam floundered briefly, but having grown up lying, it wasn’t hard to pluck one out of the air, despite his discomfort for lying to his father. “We had a falling out. I was part of the old family business, until I… went my own way.” To sell his story, he nodded down at the kids. “Not great for the line of work.”</p>
<p>     When Sam gestured to the kids, John’s gaze tracked down to rest on them. He didn’t look entirely convinced, raising a brow at them, but to Sam’s immense relief, Jesse nodded, corroborating his story. A heavy sigh sank between them, and John rested his forehead against the edge of the door for a moment, before opening it wider.</p>
<p>     “Mary’s out right now,” he explained, stepping aside. “We can talk while you wait for her. Tell me about yourself, why you want her, where exactly you’ve been all this time, that sort of thing.” Sam nodded, hoping he could make up some easy and believable lies. He didn’t know much about time-travel, but he was fairly certain that he and the children had just experienced it, and wasn’t there that butterfly effect…? Best not to risk the truth, in any case. Best case scenario, he’d get kicked out of the house. Worst case scenario, he’d be institutionalised.</p>
<p>     Sam gestured Jesse ahead of him, reaching down to take his son. To his surprise, despite the considerable weight such a large baby must have presented to a small child like Jesse, the older boy seemed reluctant to part with his burden. Sam let him continue to hold Evan. He was doing it right – well, even – soothing him when Evan began to get distressed, and Sam suspected it would be safer all around if his own arms weren’t full anyway.</p>
<p>     As Jesse stepped into the hallway, Sam felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Stepping forward, Sam angled his head just enough to reassess the road. In his periphery, something moved, a shrouded figure, brightness glowing from between the folds of fabric. Heart stopping in his chest, Sam kept his back straight, his gaze easy as he turned back towards John and smiled gratefully.</p>
<p>     John nodded to him, didn’t smile back, then turned to lead him into the house. Sam noticed the deliberate way he put himself between Sam and the kids. Normally, it would panic Sam, but he knew John, knew he would never deliberately hurt a child, especially <em>before</em> he became a hunter. Besides, it gave Sam some privacy. Privacy he used to thumb his pocket-knife up under his shirt, to carefully slice a shallow scrape over his jutting hipbone. He kept bit his lip against the sting of it, slipping his knife back away, then dipped his fingers in the wound. Still hidden, he slid his fingers to his belly, letting them trail firmly over his abs, blood trailing in their wake, leaving a symbol behind.</p>
<p>     Sucking his bloodied fingers into his mouth, he held his shirt away from his stomach with the other, hoping he wouldn’t look too odd if John turned around. Iron burst on his tongue, a flavour he couldn’t stomach anymore without wanting to be sick. He could feel his gorge rising, that horrible rippling of muscles that told him he was going to bring it all up, everything he had eaten that day, but he had to get rid of the blood on his fingers somehow, and Gabriel confirmed there was no demon taint in him anymore anyway…</p>
<p>     Even so, the image of that nurse, dropping to the floor like a doll, empty and whiter even than bone, it rose in him, blinding him to where he was putting his feet.</p>
<p>     Despite the horror of it, the choking fear and the stench of blood, it was worth it. It would always be worth it. Because, so long as he had that angel-banishing symbol ready to be used, that figure outside – Anna, Sam was sure – wasn’t going to be getting to anybody in the house that day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bobby certainly hadn’t been expecting visitors so late in the evening, especially not after Dean and Cas had vanished in the way they had, right before they had got around to explaining to him what they had been doing in his house in the first place. That Sheriff Mills visited after her shift every day, but she had already been and gone, leaving a casserole behind her. Bobby would usually have hated the charity, but he figured he was helping her out as much as she was helping him out. She had recently lost her husband, had had to shoot her own child herself, and Bobby had been no help at all. She needed someone, and he only grudgingly admitted it, but he needed help as well.</p>
<p>     That fact did not change the annoyed confusion that arose within him when he heard a knock on the door. As he rolled his way towards it, he snagged his sawed-off from where it rested strapped to the underside of the second-lowest bookshelf. It had once been on the middle shelf, but that was too high to surreptitiously grab now, so Bobby had got to work.</p>
<p>     Slowly, warily, Bobby gripped the latch, other hand reaching into his pocket for his hip-flask. Everyone thought he was a crazy old drunkard in town, carrying two on him, but one was filled with whiskey, one filled with holy water. Recognising the right one by touch, he uncapped it, opened the door, and splashed the water out.</p>
<p>     “Holy water,” came an amused, familiar voice. Bobby was sure he had heard it before, but he couldn’t quite remember where. It set his teeth on edge, stood his hair on end. “How quaint.”</p>
<p>     Meanwhile, Dean was spluttering his outrage, and the other people grouped on Bobby’s doorstep where alternately looking very surprised, or wiping water from their faces with long-suffering expressions on their face. None of them burned, smoked or hissed. Judging them safe, Bobby rolled himself backwards, letting them all step inside. A demon trap Dean had painted on the ceiling before he had left Bobby behind would trap any who had passed the first test.</p>
<p>     They all passed the second.</p>
<p>     Of course, that was when Bobby noticed who, exactly, that recognisable voice had belonged to. <em>The Trickster</em>.</p>
<p>     Levelling his gun at the creature, he said, “Get outta my house.”</p>
<p>     “That won’t work on me, Old Man,” the creature teased, pressing his fingers over the end of the barrel and pushing the gun away. Bobby let him. Better to keep the thing appeased than anger it starting trouble he couldn’t finish. At least, trouble he couldn’t finish <em>anymore</em>.  </p>
<p>     “Think I can’t get a weapon?” he asked, gesturing toward the rest of the group. Presumably, they were being mind-controlled by the thing. He hoped that that would count as a victim enough to extinguish the trickster’s life when he staked him through with it. “I’m sure any one of these five would help.”</p>
<p>     “First, not if I’m controlling them, they wouldn’t. And second—”</p>
<p>     “Stop your yapping,” the plumper, dark skinned woman interrupted, slapping the trickster over the back of his head. Her cardigan fell down her arm as she did so, revealing a set of gaudy jewellery hooked over an arm conspicuously clear of scars. Bobby wondered how a civilian had got such control over a creature of such ilk. With a warmer smile, she turned to Bobby, explained, “He’s not a trickster—” Bobby made to argue, but the woman’s raised palm demanded silence. “He’s an angel. An archangel.”</p>
<p>     That, Bobby thought, was much worse.</p>
<p>     “You didn’t, Boy,” he said to Dean, the heaviness of his disappointment deepening his voice. Dean looked at him with furrowed brows, then shrugged. There was an impatient jitter to him, his leg bouncing up and down as he perched himself on the corner of a shelf. “You let Michael tag along?”</p>
<p>     “Michael?” Ah. So that had stolen Dean’s full attention. “Why would Michael be here?”</p>
<p>     “You mean other than because he wants to wear you as bad as a prom queen wants to wear the thousand dollar dress?” This woman Bobby recognised, even if only vaguely. Ellen Harvelle, an old friend of John Winchester’s.</p>
<p>     Dean rolled his eyes, but his chin nodded his assent. Bobby wasn’t surprised. He knew Harvelle to be a formidable woman, and one who brooked no argument. Which, to be fair, seemed to be the case about most of his guests. Just who had Dean rounded up, and why had he brought them all to Bobby? And come to think of it, where was his angel?</p>
<p>     There was Ellen Harvelle, formidable enough on her own, but then he had also brought a woman who would bat an archangel over the head, a stubborn-jawed blonde in flannel, a blonde who looked both exhausted and as if she were itching to pick a fight at the same time, and an archangel in his hallway – it must be Raphael, the only other archangel left – but no Castiel? It didn’t sit right with Bobby.</p>
<p>     “Cassie is on a mission of his own,” interrupted… Raphael? “That’s right, Grumpy. We have angels on our side now.”</p>
<p>     “How many?” he narrowed his eyes at the archangel, distrustful but willing to listen. The more angels, the better. If they could amass their own army, maybe the could still win this fight, after all.</p>
<p>     “Cassie, Sammy and Bal,” the archangel ticked off on his fingers, looking quite pleased with himself. He paused, scratched his temple in an almost theatrical manner, then added, “Though actually, I don’t think you’d really describe Bal as an <em>angel</em>.”</p>
<p>     The archangel began sniggering at his own joke, almost doubling over. A deep sigh escaped the woman in the cardigan, while Ellen rolled her eyes. Both the blondes put their hands to their foreheads, and Dean, Bobby noticed, almost looked ready to tear his own hear out and throw it at the archangel in impotent rage. To Bobby’s relief, the more-ragged looking blonde removed her face from her hand and kicked the archangel in the ankle, prompting him to straighten up, betrayal sweeping across his features. “What was <em>that</em> for?”</p>
<p>     “Focus, please,” she asked him, voice tense. “We’re here for a reason.”</p>
<p>     “Oh, yeah,” an almost guilty expression flitted over the archangel’s features, “Right.”</p>
<p>     “Right, well, if there’s a <em>reason</em>,” Bobby stressed, and began rolling his way into the living room.</p>
<p>     The hallway was too tight a space, and he wanted to get away from the archangel anyway, not even mostly because of the bad memories associated with the guy’s face. No, it was more because he feared the crazy was contagious. Footsteps followed behind him. There was also some heated whispers between Dean and a voice he didn’t recognise, so he could only assume it was the blonde he hadn’t yet heard speak. The muffled sounds of a scuffle between them reached him, something shattered on the floor, and only the fingers he pinched over the bridge of his nose stopped him from turning and snapping at his entourage.</p>
<p>     Once they reached the living room, he gestured towards the various available seats. Dean, either in defiance or because he didn’t want to sit next to any of the people <em>he </em>had brought into Bobby’s house, perched himself on the corner of Bobby’s desk, not caring that he crumpled Bobby’s research.</p>
<p>     Ellen and one of the blondes sat on the couch, familiar enough with each-other that Bobby suspected it was Ellen’s daughter, Jo. Meanwhile, the other blonde perched herself on the arm of the sofa, teetering precariously when she realised that the seat was not as stable as she had apparently assumed it to be.</p>
<p>     A snap rang out in the room, and Bobby almost flinched, barely controlling himself. When he turned to the archangel with a scowl, an extra chair had been summoned, something that looked old and well-worn, not nearly as fancy as Bobby had expected from the archangel who had once paraded as <em>a trickster</em>. A tongue-cluck was heard from the plump woman, but she gathered the folds of her cardigan to her chest and moved towards the only unoccupied chair in the room, politely not looking at any of the research she moved from the seat of the chair onto the desk, before lowering herself down.</p>
<p>     “What reason have you got, then?” Bobby asked, eyeing the people scattered around his living room, before turning to Dean. “I’m figuring this is your team.”</p>
<p>     “Yeah,” Dean nodded. “You already know Ellen. Jo.” He indicated the rest with his head, starting with the woman closest to him. “This is Missouri. She’s psychic. Lindsey over there is—” he scowled at her, an expression Bobby was used to seeing when Dean was jealous of a stranger getting along just a little too well with his brother, one that certainly didn’t make sense residing on his face when Sam was neither there, nor, apparently, quite out of Dean’s black book yet. Bobby wasn’t certain that that was the case, but Dean still hadn’t brought his brother along with him, either. “Actually, Lindsey, what <em>are</em> you doing here?”</p>
<p>     “Someone’s got to care for that giant you call a brother,” Lindsey retorted. A feeling of complete and utter horror unfurled in Bobby’s rib cage, settled into the lines of his limbs like a second skin. “It wasn’t like <em>you </em>were doing it.” She paused, seemed to make an allowance, and added, “Until very recently, at least. Very, <em>very</em> recently.”  </p>
<p>     Where they really fighting over Sam?</p>
<p>     A movement in his periphery caught his eye, and when he glanced over he saw Missouri nodding, wearing an expression of such complete and utter exhaustion that Bobby’s horror increased twofold. Was this what it was going to be like, always?</p>
<p>     “He’s <em>my</em> little brother, he’s<em> my</em> responsibility,” Dean argued. Ordinarily, Bobby would have loved to have heard such claims coming from Dean again. “I can look after him.”</p>
<p>     “Bang up job you’ve done of that,” Lindsey muttered, jumping in surprise and looking down. A confused frown drew across her features as she peered down at Jo, who was smiling up at her with an innocent expression. An innocent expression Bobby knew was fake, because he had just watched Jo elbow Lindsey fairly forcefully in the thigh. “Hey,” Lindsey muttered. Bobby watched as she reached down to rub her thigh, pushing her ragged hair out of her face with her spare hand. “That’s not nice.”</p>
<p>     “Lindsey is right, you know,” broke in the archangel, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. The arrogantly relaxed lounge rubbed Bobby the wrong way, made him want to grind his teeth. “You weren’t really doing a great job, what with constantly telling him to get lost.”</p>
<p>     “Oh yeah? And you’ve done a great job of it?” Dean’s hands were in fists on his thighs, Bobby noticed, tight enough that he was sure crescents were being pressed into his palms, maybe even tight enough to draw blood. “Playing house with Sammy and the kids, and then fucking <em>losing</em> him? Great job you’ve done <em>there</em>.”</p>
<p>     “Kids?” Bobby echoed, still trying to catch up. Dean’s outburst rattled around Bobby’s head. There was important information niggling at him, but he was still caught on the bit about kids. Kids. “There are <em>two </em>of them now?”</p>
<p>     His question was ignored by both Dean and the archangel, in favour of them both continuing their verbal battle.</p>
<p>     “—guess I was being unfair,” Dean continued, responding to whatever it was the archangel had said. Bobby had missed it. “Sammy hasn’t been mooning over you like some sort of love-sick idiot. That’s been you all on your own.”</p>
<p>     “Like a lovesick idiot!” the archangel cried out, even as that little detail he had missed earlier niggled at Bobby, stuck in his mind like a splinter sticks in skin. Desperately, he tried to draw it out, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was difficult, with the two idjits verbally sparring across him. “Love-sick! I’ll have you know that archangels have no need to fall in love with humans!”</p>
<p>     Suddenly, something pinged in Bobby’s mind.</p>
<p>     “Would you two idjits shut up?” He growled, surprised to find his exclamation silenced them both. Six heads turned his way. Missouri already looked – unsurprisingly – knowing. Everyone else seemed surprised, including the archangel. “What do you mean you lost Sam?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>/////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After they had all sat down in the kitchen, the table between them, ‘Sam Milton’ had begun his explanation. John hadn’t liked it, but he had accepted it as truth for the time being. There was no way for him to prove that it wasn’t true, and even if John had his doubts about the children being Sam’s – Jesse didn’t look a thing like Sam, and there was a terrified shadow dancing over his features when he thought nobody was looking – Jesse stuck to the story without showing any evidence that he feared Sam <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>     All talking had fallen to silence after Sam had elaborated further on his story, though he hadn’t added much. He had, apparently, come to town because he thought that Mary might be able to help him and his children, and because he had some important information to impart to her, but other than that he kept his lips stubbornly tight.</p>
<p>     Staring Sam down from across the table, John hoped his expression made it clear that he was far from impressed by the other’s story. There was something about Sam, something that told him that the man was dangerous, even if he looked tired, underfed and like he’d been roughed up before he had made it to John’s doorstep. It was in the way he held himself; he stood like he was ready for an attack from all sides, and possibly multiple sides at once.</p>
<p>     Plus, there was the way Sam had almost successfully hidden his bleeding hip. John didn’t know what had made the cut, but he could tell by the darkening splotch of red on the man’s tatty flannel that there was an open wound on the man’s body. And don’t think John hadn’t noticed the way Sam had put his palms carefully on the table between them, keeping them in sight at all times, trying to minimise the threat he appeared to be. John wasn’t stupid. Sam was a dangerous man, one who could read people and know what they were thinking of him. A man who could then create an image he wanted to, weaving a story to wear like a cocoon around him. John didn’t like it, not one bit.</p>
<p>     Staring Sam down – he wasn’t going to be the one who blinked first – he almost jumped when the doorbell rang.</p>
<p>     “I guess that’s Mary,” he said. Sam merely nodded, though an odd expression almost like longing flittered across his face. Narrowing his eyes at the taller man, John warned, “You stay here.”</p>
<p>     Sam nodded, shifting a little, though he remained in his chair. The bell chimed again. Satisfied that the other man wasn’t going to get up to follow him, John made his way down the hall. Reaching the door, he prepared himself for pulling Mary to the side, having a whispered conversation with her about the man in their house, learning from <em>her</em> whether ‘Milton’ was <em>really</em> an old friend of the family or not.</p>
<p>     Opening the door, he was not mentally prepared for what he saw.</p>
<p>     There, on his doorstep, was a small crowd, mixed as could be. A man John vaguely recognised stood near the back, tallest. Next to him stood a harsh-faced woman, a blonde girl standing next to her with her arms folded across her chest. In the front, closest to him, a man who wavered where he stood, unsteady on his legs as if he’d only just learnt to use them, cleared his throat, but made no indication that he actually wanted to say anything. Another man, sweaty and pained, head hanging forward, stood propped between two women, one with ragged hair and dark circles under her eyes, the other plumper, more put-together.</p>
<p>     The sickly man lolled his head around to blink stickily at John, as if he didn’t understand quite what he was seeing for a moment. Then, a triumphant grin broke out across his face, exhausted as it was.</p>
<p>     “We made it, guys,” the man said, voice breathy and strained. “I told you we would.” Suddenly, he winced, a pained breath punched from him. “Though maybe I underestimated quite how much energy it would take. Gonna take a nap.”</p>
<p>     With that, he promptly passed out between them, only the two women’s grips on him keeping him from his face having a meeting up close and personal with the ground.</p>
<p>     Blinking at him with astonishment, John struggled to understand what had happened for only a moment. Then, realisation kicked in, and he raised his head to look at the unlikely bunch that had adorned his porch.</p>
<p>     Licking his lips, he stepped backwards, allowing passage into the house.</p>
<p>    “I think you had better all come in.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am fully aware that Gabriel has more power than Castiel, and should easily transport people back into the past. Don't worry, there is an explanation for why he passed out. </p>
<p>Hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading. Have a good one. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter Twenty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Castiel, Balthazar and Samandriel get on with a mission, while John and Mary struggle to come to terms with their unexpected guests.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone, </p>
<p>I can't remember the full time-line for this episode. I think Mary isn't obviously pregnant during The Song Remains the Same, but she is in this story. </p>
<p>Other than that, I believe there's nothing else that's needed to be known. </p>
<p>Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos. As always, it's great to see. So, please feel free to leave comments to your heart's content. Thank you, and enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Twenty</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We are traitors to Heaven now,” Castiel intoned, walking as steadily as he ever had. Samandriel felt his grace churn frustratedly within him. “We must lay low.”</p>
<p>     “Exactly, Cassie,” Balthazar snapped his fingers, a display far more human than any Samandriel had encountered before. He wished he could mimic it – his closest brother, Gabriel, acted far more similar to Balthazar than he did to Samandriel, after all – but he was certain Balthazar would mock him. Castiel, he knew, would just send him a dirty look, brows low, jaw set, eyes stern and disapproving. Balthazar’s falsely jubilant tone drew Samandriel’s attention back. “We should have encountered far more resistance than this. Which begs the question, of course, where is everybody?”</p>
<p>     Arms spread wide, Balthazar danced a circle, still moving in the same direction as Samandriel and Castiel. When Castiel didn’t respond, just turned his disapproving glare on Balthazar, silence fell between them, heavy and nervous.</p>
<p>     Samandriel had never broken rank with Heaven before. He didn’t want his existence wiped out, <em>of course</em> he didn’t, but <em>Gabriel</em> had asked. Gabriel who he had thought was <em>dead</em>. How could he possibly deny Gabriel <em>anything</em>? It was his closest brother, back to him again. And, Samandriel knew, if Gabriel would reveal himself for this, then it had to mean <em>something</em>. Samandriel just had to work out what.</p>
<p>     Together, they continued down the stark blank corridors of Heaven, heading towards the dungeon. Samandriel felt as the others’ grace became more agitated. The corridors began to feel smaller, the sensation of millions of eyes on their backs increasing. Glancing to his left, Samandriel wondered why the other two were following Gabriel’s plan. Balthazar, he supposed he could guess: an angel settled on Earth would hardly want the apocalypse to come about. But <em>Castiel</em>?</p>
<p>     Shaking off such thoughts, Samandriel focused back in on the task at hand. They were to find and rescue an angel who had long been locked up within the prisons of Heaven, receiving punishment for a crime that Gabriel was convinced had not been the angel’s own fault. Privately, even at the time Samandriel had agreed with Gabriel, and had often wanted to come visit this brother, to provide him with even a little comfort, but Hannah, the angel guarding the gates, had always scared him too much to dare trying to trick or bargain his way past.</p>
<p>     Now, though, Castiel had received word that Hannah was out on a mission, somewhere nearing the Canadian border – human distinctions between areas were funny to Samandriel, infinitely so – and Samandriel knew that the forces of Heaven had been stretched so thin recently that, when someone left their post in the realm, nobody came to fill it unless said angel fell in battle. For as long as Hannah was out on her mission, the three of them should have enough time to slip unnoticed into the prison, and then steal away with an injured angel in their midst.</p>
<p>     When they finally reached the doors to the jail, Samandriel felt his grace curl tightly, knotting itself within his vessel. Confused, he pressed his hand to his stomach, only to hear Balthazar scoff at him.</p>
<p>     “First time?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Then, without waiting for Samandriel to even query what ‘first time’ Balthazar had meant, he threw open the doors to the jail, setting off all sorts of alarms. Samandriel reached out with one hand to grip Castiel’s coat sleeve. In the other, he felt cool metal against his palm, and realised he had curled his fingers around his blade without even being conscious of it. Balthazar chuckled again, though there was a gleam in his eye, a swirl to his grace, that suggested he was more worried than he let on. “Whoops.”</p>
<p>     “We must hurry,” was all Castiel said, gently disentangling Samandriel’s fingers from his sleeve cuff.</p>
<p>     Embarrassed, Samandriel straightened his posture, throwing his shoulders back and pressing his empty palm against his thigh. He was an angel, trained in the art of war since his creation. A sudden alarm should not have had him reaching out for an older brother, seeking protection. This whole situation was confusing him, leaving him acting in ways he never usually would, and he was doing it all for Gabriel. Briefly, he wondered if he should have been doing it at all.</p>
<p>     Unhooking such traitorous thoughts from his mind – he had already become a turncoat once, it wouldn’t do to do so against his new allies now – he fell into a fighting stance, creeping forward in formation with Castiel and Balthazar, stretching the spread of his grace as far as he dared, ensuring he would be alert when angels came running.</p>
<p>     To his surprise, most of the cells of Heaven were empty. Here and there, traces of grace lingered, sad little scraps that Samandriel was certain had once been full-blown angels, perhaps parts of Nephilim.</p>
<p>     In only a few were there any substantial beings, coiled tight into balls, seething in their corners, their graces dulled, blackened. Even those, Samandriel could sense, were mere shells of what they had used to be. Never before had he wanted to see what happened within Heaven’s cells, and now that he knew, he wanted to run. He couldn’t imagine the tortures a being of immense immaculate grace had to undergo to become the creatures almost smoking and writhing in those cells, their grace nothing but tattered scraps cowering in the darkened shadows, like demons hiding from the sun.</p>
<p>     Finally, they came to the deepest cells in the corridor. To Samandriel’s surprise, no other angels had come rushing to attack, but somehow he suspected that wasn’t because they didn’t know he, Castiel and Balthazar were there. Nevertheless, they persisted, reaching the very last cell in the row.</p>
<p>     When they came to it, Samandriel felt his grace recoil.</p>
<p>     It was a visceral reaction to what they encountered. Within, there was a creature of such suffering, such helplessness…</p>
<p>     Pity washed over Samandriel when he beheld what was contained within the cell. Grace was shot through with valleys of blackened rot. The edges of his very being were tattered, torn, frayed. Chunks had been ripped from within, leaving gaping holes where his ethereal being should have been. When Samandriel and the others drew closer to the cell, the tightening, roiling ball of dimmed light shrank back, almost trembling. A noise that was the angel equivalent of a scream was released, raw and begging, pleading with the three angels before it not to hurt it.</p>
<p>     Gently, so as not to terrify the being further, Samandriel reached his vessel’s arm through the bars in the cell wall.</p>
<p>     “We’re not here to hurt you,” Castiel informed the grace, which had pressed itself as far back into the corner as it could, shaking so harshly its grace was boiling, a pot simmering over. “We’re here to free you.”</p>
<p>     “Will you let us?” Samandriel asked, vessel’s hand still held open. An invitation, not a threat. “Will you come with us, Gadreel?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mary sighed as she reached her front door, glad to finally have a chance to rest. She had insisted to John that she be the one to head down to the local grocery store, strongly enough that she thought she may have made John nervous, or at the very least upset, but she was regretting that decision now. It was just that she had been so <em>bored</em>, coddled by John just because she was pregnant. All she had wanted was something to do.</p>
<p>     Still, she was home now, and she could rest her swollen ankles on John’s lap (after he had put away the groceries hanging from her shoulder in the net bag, of course) for a while before getting on with doing anything else. She wouldn’t admit he had been right, of course, but he was always willing to rub her feet for her. Smoothing her blue denim dress over the bump of her growing child, she smiled fondly, before dipping her free hand into the half-moon pocket of her cardigan for her keys. They jangled as she lifted the to the lock, but slid easily into place, and turned with that familiar click she loved.</p>
<p>     When the door swung open, she froze.</p>
<p>     Inside, she could hear a cacophony of voices. John’s was there, smooth tones she loved so much rising above the other voices… but that was the thing. There were <em>other voices</em>. What was going on?</p>
<p>     Letting the groceries fall from her shoulder, she placed them carefully on the floor. Shutting the door quietly, enough that even<em> she</em> barely heard it click and she was standing right next to it, she slipped her shoes off and stepped over the grocery back. As silently as she could in her cumbersome, heavily pregnant body, she padded down the hallway, moving to peer around the doorway of the living room. She blinked in shock.</p>
<p>     Nobody was facing her direction, but even if they had been, she suspected she would have recognised none of them. That was, until she heard another familiar voice, one she had only heard during a terrible period of her life. Dean van Halen.</p>
<p>     “Leave my brother out of this,” he was saying. When Mary located his reflection in a cabinet, see-through, ghostly, he was folding his arms, glaring harshly at a young blonde woman Mary had never seen before. Her hair was long and straight, her hands resting on her hips. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>     “Don’t know what I’m—” She began, one hand flying up to jab a finger at her own chest, until another voice interrupted her.</p>
<p>     “Your brother?” That was John, sounding sceptical. She couldn’t see his face from her vantage point, but she suspected that his expression wasn’t impressed. “Sam is your brother? I thought you said you were Dean van Halen.”</p>
<p>     “I am,” Dean nodded. A hiss caused him to turn his head, and Mary leaned further around the corner to see what it was he was looking at. One of the tallest men Mary had ever met stood there, a baby cradled in one arm, another child clutching at his pant-leg on his other side. “Don’t tell me you gave a different surname?”</p>
<p>     “How was I supposed to know you went with van Halen when you were last here?” Came the aggrieved reply. “Honestly, Dean, it wasn’t like you said much about it.”</p>
<p>     “So you <em>are</em> brothers?” John confirmed, sounding exasperated. Mary imagined the line that etched its way between his eyebrows whenever he took that tone, and immediately wanted to smooth it out with her thumb. “Van Halens? Miltons? Something else?”</p>
<p>     “Miltons?” another voice asked, this one much more gruffer than the last. Mary couldn’t see this speaker, either. What she <em>could</em> see was a plump older woman. The woman caught Mary’s eyes and raised her eyebrows, evidently unimpressed with the proceedings. Then, she gave the tiniest of shrugs, as if to ask <em>what can you do? </em>Meanwhile, the gruff man was still talking. “Like as in—?”</p>
<p>     “As in what?” Another young woman spoke up, this one looking raggedy. She was sitting next to the plumper woman. She hadn’t noticed Mary yet, but that suited Mary just fine.</p>
<p>     “Gabriel used the surname,” Dean explained, taking the tone of someone who was rapidly losing his patience. Mary found herself in the same boat. What was going on in her living room? And more importantly, <em>why</em>? “Back when we first met.”</p>
<p>     “Not surprising,” muttered the original blonde, the one with the ghostly reflection in the mirror, the one who dressed like a hunter. “I mean, this is the guy who <em>started </em>this whole thing, right? Why wouldn’t he use a monster’s name?”</p>
<p>     In the glass, Mary could see Dean’s face darken, his mouth open to presumably spit vitriol at the woman who had just spoken.</p>
<p>     Before he could, another voice broke in, “Joanna Beth Harvelle, you watch your manners. I <em>know</em> I raised you better than that.”</p>
<p>     “Ellen, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” the giant broke in. “She’s not wrong.”</p>
<p>     “it’s not fine, Sam,” snapped the raggedy-haired woman on the couch. “I don’t know much about this whole mess, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your fault.”</p>
<p>     Before anybody could get further into the argument – and from the look on the plump woman’s face, Mary suspected that it was a <em>long</em> argument, and a circuitous one at that – Mary stepped through the doorway, clearing her throat.</p>
<p>     “Some<em>body</em>,” she demanded, voice as stern as she could muster – that, she knew, was very stern indeed, having grown up with a father like Samuel Campbell, “Had better tell me what is going on.” When everybody froze, but nobody piped up, Mary folded her arms, tapped her foot and added, “<em>Now</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>///////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Together, they managed to get the pathetic ball of grace that had once been Gadreel out of the cell, into the corridors, and moving hurriedly along with them. He was still nervous, shying away from every brush of grace, though Balthazar didn’t think that was much different from how he had been before he had been locked in a cell and subjected to Heaven’s justice for millennia. He had always held himself apart from other angels.</p>
<p>     Nevertheless, even with Gadreel holding them back, they managed to make good time moving towards the exit, rushing through the gateway – still alarming, still violently loud, bursting apoplectically through Balthazar’s grace – head back the way they had come in, and reach the ‘stairwell’ back to the middle realm, the Earth.</p>
<p>     Quickly, Balthazar ushered Samandriel through first. The kid was just too cute; it was no wonder Gabriel had picked him as his personal favourite, all those millennia ago. He would wait on the other side, ready to defend Gadreel and to provide a reminder that he was to <em>remain</em> with them on the other side.</p>
<p>     Hurriedly, Balthazar gestured for Cassie to go through next. The angel was a killjoy, but at least he was more solid than Samandriel, more certain in his decision to break rank with Heaven. With Castiel and Samandriel on the other side, there would be enough protection for Gadreel. If Balthazar was caught in Heaven with an escaped prisoner, well… There was some precedent for that, in all honesty, and he was confident he could talk his way out of this crime, just as he had bargained his way out of the last one.</p>
<p>     With Castiel about to step through the doorway, Balthazar sensed something. Reaching out, he pinched his fingers into the material at Cassie’s elbow, sending out enough grace that it crumpled his clothing deliberately (there was always time to irritate people, no matter the situation) and served the second purpose of catching the other angel’s attention. Castiel turned just in time.</p>
<p>     “The prisoner is not yours to take,” Hannah revealed herself before them, her vessel tiny and fair-skinned. Despite the warmth that the gentle brown waves cascading down her back and the big-brown eyes would normally have had, Balthazar could only feel dislike. Hannah had always been a stickler for the rules, and somehow she managed to express that even through the soft-face woman she was wearing like a cheap dress. “You will leave him here.”</p>
<p>     “Hannah,” Castiel greeted, nodding his head respectfully. “We are under orders to release the prisoner.”</p>
<p>     “Orders?” Hannah asked, furrowing her brow. “I have heard of no such orders.” She paused, tilted her head to the side like an inquisitive little bird, then asked, “If you are under orders, why have you set the alarms off. And why would Balthazar return? We were under the impression that you wished to break with Heaven long ago, Brother.”</p>
<p>     “Don’t ‘Brother’ me,” Balthazar turned his head away in disgust, waving his vessel’s hands in front of him as if to ward off a projectile. “I want nothing to do with you stuck-up lot. I was recruited, but I’m certainly no angel, darling.”</p>
<p>     “How could you not be an angel?” Hannah asked, her brown eyes somehow bitterly cold, despite their melted-chocolate colour. “Things cannot change what they <em>are</em>.”</p>
<p>     “Of course they can,” he argued cheerfully, fingers of one hand wrapping around his other thumb, beginning a list on his digits. “Humans to monsters,” he said, letting go of his thumb to bend his index finger back, “Abominations to ordinary humans, angels to demons… And so on.”</p>
<p>     “Humans to demons,” Hannah interjected quickly, her eyes narrowing. She was certainly getting the hang of wearing a vessel, wasn’t she? “Angels would never stoop so low.”</p>
<p>     “Honey, they already have,” Balthazar rolled his eyes, taking a few steps forward to stand between Hannah and Castiel. “I don’t just mean the Princes of Hell, either.”</p>
<p>     Hannah looked affronted at that, her grace freezing briefly in astonishment.  </p>
<p>     Hands behind his back, Balthazar gestured as best he could that Castiel was to grab Gadreel and go. As much as he hated putting himself in danger, he was the best bet for getting them all out of there alive: he was the only one who could effectively lie or play distraction.</p>
<p>     Seeming to take the hint, Castiel unfurled a tendril of grace and hooked it around Gadreel’s still-trembling form. Then, with a move that Balthazar certainly hadn’t expected from Castiel, the two were through the doorway, crashing through to the human realm, while a blade whipped end-over-end towards Hannah, glinting brightly in the glow of Heaven.</p>
<p>     She dodged it easily, merely stepping to the side, but, as the humans always said, it was the thought that counted.</p>
<p>     “Well, it seems my frie—acquaintances have abandoned me here,” Balthazar sketched a mock bow, then backed towards the doorway. “In that case, I shall take my leave.”</p>
<p>     “Wait,” Hannah’s voice was panicked, though a vague notion drifting from her grace to Balthazar’s told him that it wasn’t because she had lost the prisoner. She was terrified of what could have caused three angels to rebel for the same cause. “Under whose authority were these orders given? Naomi will—”</p>
<p>     “A higher authority than you answer to, Sweetheart,” Balthazar grinned, then stepped backwards, allowing the doorway to throw him downwards.</p>
<p>     His grace tumbled inside his vessel, the forces between realms acting on his form. It was a good thing, he thought, that he had managed to get a yes out of a dying man right before the soul had slipped out of the body. It had given him an empty vessel, one he could come and go from whenever he pleased, simply because the man’s last words had been a blanket-yes to an angel. Balthazar suspected that it would be an even worse journey with said human’s soul clinging to him, buffeted by forces that they should never be able to feel, clinging to the side of what was, to a human, effectively a meteor.</p>
<p>     Finally, gratefully, Balthazar was deposited on his ass next to a rusty climbing frame. He was sitting in a sand-pit, grains of it scattered conspicuously all over his new black pants. Sighing, he picked himself up, dusted the sand off, and muttered regretfully to himself about how it hadn’t been the most graceful of landings he had ever had.</p>
<p>     “Balthazar!” Samandriel’s voice startled him, causing him to spin to face the angel in the smaller vessel.</p>
<p>     The vessel looked somewhat peaky, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. No, it was the expression of horrified panic spread across those features, blue eyes wide and colour high in the cheeks. Something was wrong.</p>
<p>     “What?” he asked, throwing a glance around him. A bush rustled next to him, and he wondered if they had an ambush on their hands, until Castiel stumbled out, looking a little worse for wear. No change there, then. “What is it?”</p>
<p>     “It’s Gadreel!” Samandriel cried, looking almost as if he were going to cry. Balthazar hoped that didn’t happen; Samandriel may have been cute, but that didn’t mean he wanted an emotional younger sort-of-sibling on his hands. “He’s gone!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So let me get this straight,” John said, rough fingers pressing harshly against his own temple. “Your family,” he pointed at Mary, ignoring the sheepish expression that lowered her eyelids, dipped her chin. “Were all… hunters? As in, hunt ghosts, ghouls, things that go bump in the night? That sort of thing?”</p>
<p>     “John…” her voice was quiet, filled with guilt. She looked up at him, then slumped, her chin ducking down and to the side. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>     That, he didn’t want to touch right then. He could understand (sort of) why she would have kept the truth from him, especially because he still wasn’t entirely convinced that she even <em>was </em>telling the truth. Only the sheer volume of back-up made it even partially convincing.</p>
<p>     Worse, was the story that the unexpected, frankly unwanted, guests were telling him. A story of time-travel, of showing up at his door because Dean – who <em>apparently</em> was a Milligan, along with his brother – had met Mary and worked a case with her before, back when her parents were killed in a different time-travel accident.</p>
<p>     John’s memories of the time were fuzzy, as were Mary’s, but she was certain Dean was the man who had tried to help her. Still, it was hard to believe. Especially because that did not explain why Sam ‘Milligan’ had shown up on his doorstep beforehand, seeing as he wasn’t actually the one who had met Mary. Why, if time-travel really was involved, had Sam and the children been sent back to his and Mary’s doorstep?</p>
<p>     They claimed that the child, the one now clinging tightly to the corner of Sam’s worn and stained flannel, was the reason that Sam, Jesse and the baby Evan had been thrown back in time. They said that Jesse’s panic at the angel – <em>angel</em> – bursting in on them with a plan he could apparently read in her grace was what had caused him to throw him and his two companions back in time. None of the group would reveal what, exactly, the plan had been. Frankly, John was too confused, too<em> scared</em>, to ask.</p>
<p>     “Right,” he nodded, fingers curling into his hair and tugging. Maybe it was all a dream, maybe he would <em>wake up</em>. Any moment now, he was sure. The pull stung, but reality didn’t shift. Damn it. “So, what you’re telling me is not only do I have a room full of psychics, demons and hunters, but that the literal <em>archangel Gabriel</em> is passed out in our spare bedroom because he refused to use grace? He used pagan magic – because obviously Gabriel is<em> also</em> the Norse god Loki – so as not to draw attention to himself, and this somehow exhausted him from the <em>strain of using one without the other in such large quantities</em>?”</p>
<p>     “Yep,” Ellen nodded, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall. Next to her, her daughter was still sulking, though pretending to be nonchalant about the whole thing. She wasn’t pulling it off.  </p>
<p>     “Okay,” he nodded again, turning back to his wife with a plea in his eyes. At first, she didn’t want to meet his gaze, so he prompted, “Mary?”</p>
<p>     “I don’t understand,” she admitted, hauling herself to her feet. Carefully, the paced forwards, coming to stand just behind John’s shoulder.</p>
<p>     Distantly, John noticed Sam and Dean giving her very strange looks, almost awe-filled, but their expressions differed from there. Dean was looking at Mary’s noticeable belly with a look similar to the look John was wearing on his face, he was sure. Confusion, uncertainty, a desperate want for everything to sort itself out and go away. Sam, the giant of the two, was looking at Mary’s bump with even more awe. John figured it had to do with him being a father, or something similar.</p>
<p>     “I really just don’t understand,” Mary continued, inching closer to John. When her shoulder pressed against his, he leaned back against her slightly, her warmth a comforting balm against the weirdness of his life right then. “If you’re hunters,” she pointed to Dean, John, Ellen and Jo in turn, “I don’t understand what you’re doing with demons and psychics.”</p>
<p>     “That hardly matters as of now,” Missouri cut in, her tone brusque. She, too, had her arms folded across her chest, though John suspected she would be far more comfortable with one hand on her hip, another with a cooking implement in hand, ready to threaten any person in the room who chose to displease her further. Already, her lips were pressed into a thin line of impatience. “What we’re looking for is a place to stay until Gabriel gets back up onto his feet. Then, we’ll stop Annael from doing what it is she came here to do, and we’ll go back to our time.” One hand <em>did </em>slide to her hip then, the other extending a threatening finger towards Sam. “We’re not doing that, Boy, so you can go right ahead and forget it, do you hear me?”</p>
<p>     When John chanced a glance across at Sam, the taller man looked guilty, but not as if he were dropping the thought. That was only confirmed when Missouri strode towards him and thwacked him on the shoulder. It was very strange to see her psychic powers in affect. John almost called them out on it, almost declared it a funny show. Only barely did he manage to hold himself back.</p>
<p>     “I’ll hear no more about it, Samuel, and that is final,” she informed him, the corners of her lips pulling downwards, etching deep lines into her face. “I mean it.”</p>
<p>     “But Missouri—”</p>
<p>     “What’s he thinking?” Dean cut in, edging even closer into his brother’s space. Careful not to jostle the baby Sam was still holding – in fact, John noticed he was careful not to touch the baby <em>at all</em> – he reached up to rest his hand on his brother’s shoulder, fingers looking like they were digging in uncomfortably hard. “Sam, what are you thinking?”</p>
<p>     “Nothing, Dean, it’s fine,” Sam brushed him off, moving so his shoulder was out of his brother’s grip.</p>
<p>     To John’s immense frustration, the giant of a man went to stand over by Lindsey, who had been mostly silent, save for when she and Dean spent time sniping at each-other. From the look on Dean’s face, it seemed apparent that they were about to go for another round. That was until Singer stood between them, giving them a scowl that made even John pause to think. Singer, too, had his arms folded, though his appeared to be folded to prevent him from reaching out and throttling anyone who opened their mouth to say pretty much anything at that point.</p>
<p>     “Oh, come now, Gigantor” a new voice entered the fray, and John let his head loll back between his shoulder blades, his eyes fixing on the crack that ran across the ceiling. He knew that voice. That was the snarky little man who had fainted on his porch not even three hours ago.</p>
<p>     Now, though, his voice was far darker, an anger in it that chilled even John to his bones. He shuffled backwards, out of the path of the… well, the archangel (he could almost believe it, with the way the air in the room began to prickle with what could only be power – or maybe tension).</p>
<p>     “It’s not nothing.” Eyes like blades, flashing gold, narrowed, fixed on Sam. “It’s a terrible plan, but it’s <em>nothing </em>now, is it? Care to share with the class? Or do you want to keep all of your truly<em> excellent</em> ideas to yourself?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I figured I should just explain Gadreel here, a little bit. I actually liked Gadreel's character (though not what he and Dean teamed up to do to Sam) but I think that a character who really would have some issues with Lucifer showing up would certainly have been interesting, if they had explored such a character in regards to, you know, Lucifer, and not Metatron. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Have a wonderful week. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter Twenty-One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After escaping Heaven, Gadreel is on a mission. Meanwhile, Sam's plan is revealed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! </p><p>Finally on a holiday, so I got time to write! I almost didn't get this up tonight (I accidentally pulled my actual, real nail off, and as you can imagine, typing is now a pain) but I finally got it finished. </p><p>I'm really sorry about the wait. This chapter feels to me more like a filler chapter than anything, but I hope you like it anyway. </p><p>WARNING: There is some suicidal ideation in the third to fifth chapter. The section starts with the words 'Once upon a time' and finishes with 'liver cirrhosis' if you want to skip those paragraphs. </p><p>Thank you to all those who have commented and left kudos! I really appreciate it! As always, comments are always welcome. Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Twenty-One</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Donovan Foster – Don to the bartender of his local haunt, when it wasn’t ‘get the Hell outta’ here’ – spat out the last of the bile clinging thick and claggy to his tongue. Eyes watering – pain, light and the remnants of his retching forcing droplets from the corners – he pushed himself to his knees. There, he swayed, a thumping heavy as a hammer against an anvil in his head. Everything swayed before him, and his already-ragged fingertips dug into the grazing brick of the wall in a desperate effort to keep him upright. It barely worked; only enough to let him slump down against it, his shoulder pressing painfully against its unforgiving surface.</p><p>     With one last heave of effort, he let himself fall around until his back was pressed against the wall instead. His leg flopped sideways, sending the near-empty bottle from last night rolling. As it did, a few drops of liquor fell from its rim, glinting in the sunlight. Donovan groaned.</p><p>     Once upon a time, he hadn’t been some homeless drunk in an alley, deliberately drinking his way into an early grave. If it hadn’t been for his fear of what came after, the great beyond, he was certain he would have taken himself to that little bridge he had crossed on his way into town, back when he was still new to sleeping on the streets.</p><p>     He would have taken himself to that bridge, would have run his hands over the rust-stained white paint, might even have chipped a few flakes off, scratched his initials as proof that he had ever been there at all, and then put his sole-worn trainer over that mark and pushed himself up, up, and over the side, down into the icy waters below. The river would have swallowed him up that winter, spat him back out far further upstream, up where the trees grew impassable, wild, and he would have faded the way all those other lost souls had before him. If he had only been a little braver…</p><p>     But he hadn’t been brave. He had been terrified then, and he was terrified now, in his early twenties and slowly – quickly – drinking his way into liver cirrhosis.</p><p>     He laughed, a racking, bitter sound. It seemed hilarious to him that he had survived all those nights on the streets, all those bitterly cold winters, all those dangerously hot, shade-less summers, when he had no one and nothing to live for. Other people he had met, people who had been working towards something, aiming for something, hadn’t made it. He had.</p><p>     He flung his arm out heavily to the side, fingers scrabbling half-heatedly for his bottle. They brushed against the glass, a sliver of a crack catching on a hang-nail, pulling, stinging, and then the bottle rolled away, tinkling as it did. A car – silver, glinting – whizzed by, its wake-wind setting the bottle to rolling again, until it fetched against his jean-clad leg. A corner of his lips tipped upwards, pulling at the cracking skin. Something tickled at his chin, but he didn’t bother to reach his hand up to investigate. It may have been blood, it may have been a fly. Either way, Don didn’t care.</p><p>     He groaned again, heaving a deep breath afterwards. The alley smelt of vomit and piss and that strong-sharp scent of liquor. Don was pretty sure he smelled the same.</p><p>     That was why, when sharp-toed heels, red and shiny, speckless, barely a crease to prove they had been worn, stopped just short of the still-rocking bottle, Don was surprised.</p><p>     Head still pounding, his stomach churning with the insistent news that it was going to empty itself again soon, he lolled his head round and upwards to look the new-comer in the face, not caring when that stinging pain of pulled-out hair cried from his scalp. What was it to him if he left a few strands of ashy-blond hair clinging to a brick wall? Nobody was out looking for him. Even if they were, they wouldn’t notice the hair.  </p><p>     “I have been looking for you.” The woman’s voice was pleasant.</p><p>     At least, Don thought it would have been, if it hadn’t carried that desperate undertone that he had heard in so many street-sleepers’ voices. There was something wild, terrified and frightened there, and Don didn’t want to get involved with it.</p><p>     “G’way, l’dy,” he slurred, trying to wave her off. His arm raised, even moved, but his hand flopped around at the end of his wrist like a dead fish. He blinked at it, blinked at her, and promptly doubled over, the horrible feeling of something forcing its way up his oesophagus screaming in his brain, breaking past all the other wavey-throbbing thoughts he was having.</p><p>     Distantly, he felt something latch onto the nape of his neck – warm skin, he thought, long fingers, sharp nails – and then he was being pushed the other way, his hands coming up under him to graze against the concrete, slice against ancient pieces of shattered glass, and he was bringing up everything he had left in him, right on top of the last round. Finally finished, he spat again, then licked his lips, gathered what little semblance of himself that he could, and groaned, “Can’t you see I’m busy.”</p><p>     “Busy drinking your way into an early grave.” The voice commented. Despite the disapproval, the woman smoothed a hand down his back. There was something off about the gesture, as if she had heard about physical comfort, but had yet to actually practise giving any. Whatever. Don took what he could get. “Come, sit against the wall again.”</p><p>     Gently, hands manoeuvred him around until he was leaning against the wall again. Then, those long finger were pressing against his temples, the nails – red as the shoes, his addled mind volunteered – scratching softly at his skin.</p><p>     Through thick lips, he vocalised a protest. He tried to bat the woman away, but all he managed was to grasp at the cuffs of her crisp grey suit. Opening his mouth again, he drew in breath, smelled an odd scent, like meat cooking, and a tingling sensation in his skull soothed all his senses. Better than soothed, if he were being honest. The thumping, ocean-like quality to his mind was gone, leaving him clear headed for the first time in years. His stomach was no longer roiling, either. Even his body had stopped aching.</p><p>     Surprised, he sucked in a quick breath, turning searching eyes on the woman.</p><p>     His small amount of breath was last almost instantly.</p><p>     Her hair was wound into hundreds of tiny braids, and those were wound into a bun. Her nose was smooth, her lips full, her eyes piercingly light. Her makeup was almost perfect, save for a tiny smudge of black under her right eye. Even her skin seemed as if it had been flawless, once. A gorgeously rich brown, with no scars or visibly clogged pores, she was beautiful. Or she would have been, if it weren’t for whatever was happening at her hairline.</p><p>     There, the skin was blackening even as Don watched, peeling and flaking to land on her shoulders, as dark as dandruff was light, but far, far more horrific. In her ears, her earrings seemed to be heating, the metal glowing a red-hot, and when Don moved his focus to her eyes, horror clear-as-day in his own, he realised that that silvery hue had not been natural, but was instead something glowing, something other, peering at him through the poor woman’s eyes.</p><p>     His heart skipped a beat, another beat, and then started pounding again double-time. Pressing himself backwards as harshly as he could, Don stared fixedly at her. He couldn’t afford to let her out of his sight. He just <em>couldn’t</em>.</p><p>     Was this his punishment, he wondered. His parents had said it would be coming to him, just as they had thrown him out. They had said that demons would stalk his path and drag him back to Hell, if he didn’t turn back to the righteous path, if he didn’t stop journeying down the Devil’s lane. Tears began welling in his eyes, hazing the horror before him. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see his impending doom, didn’t want to be dragged down to the Pit.</p><p>     “Donovan Joshua Foster,” the woman said, her lips parting enough that Don could see the way her tongue was also darkening. Was this what was going to happen to him, one day? Would he become like her? As monstrous? As terrifying? Would he burn Hellfire inside, kept burning by his own sins? “Don, I have—”</p><p>     The woman’s mouth stopped moving, then. Her lips parted wide, and her tongue, burned beyond all recognition, fell from her mouth, landing on the ground like a lump of coal. Don felt his stomach roil for an entirely different reason than his drink.</p><p>     <em>I have need of you</em>, a voice spoke, directly into his mind. Don raised his hands, pressed them as firmly against his ears as was possible, tried to block out the sound. He heard it anyway. It was like ringing bells – though the ones his mind conjured had been rusted by blood, still pouring down the outsides – but he found he could understand nonetheless. <em>You are a perfect vessel</em>.</p><p>     Gathering up as much courage as he could, Don informed the… the <em>thing</em>, “You can’t have me.”</p><p>     <em>Please</em>, the ‘voice’ asked again, chin tilting downwards so those eyes could glance down at the body. <em>This vessel will not last much longer. She will die if you do not say yes to me.</em></p><p>     “Is this some kind of trick?” Don asked, curling his fingers until they dug into the flesh where his ears met his skull. “Don’t your kind just take? Why do you need me to say yes? To prove my sin?”</p><p>     <em>My kind?</em> Asked the demon, tilting its head reminiscent of a bird. <em>Angels</em>?</p><p>     “You can’t expect me to believe <em>you’re</em> an angel,” Don spat, before biting his tongue so hard he tasted copper in his mouth. Mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ a few times, he gathered up his courage, held his breath, and then released it in a slow stream. To his surprise, the creature gave him the time to regain himself. Licking his lip tentatively, eyes fixed towards the floor, knees drawn to his chest, Don explained, “You’re burning that woman up.”</p><p>     <em>Which is precisely why I need you</em>, the creature pointed out. The ringing-bell-words in his head almost had a tone of exasperation to them, though that desperate terror Don had detected earlier was still there. <em>This vessel will not last much longer. I have no desire to cause her destruction. </em> </p><p>     “You <em>are</em>,” Don whispered, locking his fingers together atop his knees. Keeping his eyes fixed on them, he added, “Besides, angels wouldn’t talk to me. Not after the way I’ve sinned. Not unless it was to punish me – but I thought demons did that.”</p><p>     <em>Sinned how?</em> Again, the head tilted. Don only caught it from his periphery, but the movement was still there. <em>I am unaware of any sins in your past</em>.</p><p>     “I… My…” Swallowing, Don tried to gather up the courage to admit what he had done, his greatest shame. “I fell in love with my best friend!” It burst out of him in a rush, tumbling past his lips before he could stop it. He pressed his fingers over his mouth, nails digging in to the sensitive skin around his lips, eyes slamming shut, but he continued, <em>had </em>to continue, had to explain himself. “He – my friend – Dylan – he said it was okay. He said that there was nothing wrong with it. But then my parents, they found us when we were together – you know,<em> together</em> – and – and – and they said it was wrong! I <em>knew</em> it was wrong, I <em>did</em>! They made sure to teach me, don’t worry. They’re not sinners. But I couldn’t help it! I didn’t mean to! It was a mistake, I swear it! I won’t – if you spare me – it won’t happen again. It <em>won’t</em>.”</p><p>     There was a pause.</p><p>     A long pause.</p><p>     Slowly, Don cracked an eye open, checking the creature’s expression. The woman’s cheeks were carbonising now, cracking and raw and pitch-dark.</p><p>     Finally, after an agonisingly long wait, the creature admitted, <em>I am not entirely sure what your mistake is. However, if you have made a mistake, then it is insignificant in comparison to my mistake. I would ask for your consent to use your body as a vessel, to fix what I have done. I will not use your body for longer than I must. I will ensure to return it to you in the condition that I found it. I will build you a garden within your mind, that you need not know what your body is being put through, what it is like to carry an angel within. And, as I have stated, I will return your body to you the very instant my mistake is corrected. Will you give me your consent?</em></p><p>     “Wh—What was your mistake?” Don asked tentatively, eyes fixing on the sky, on the nearby rooftops, on a slightly discoloured brick higher up the opposite wall. Anything but on those eyes, those eyes that could peer right through him. “Can it be fixed?”</p><p>     <em>I was tricked by a brother whom I loved dearly</em>, the creature responded, and visions of a great deceiver rose to mind. Lucifer, the father of lies, the one who had tempted Don into sin. So he was talking to a demon then, if Lucifer had managed to lure the creature, trick it.<em> I wish to rectify my mistake. I have been informed by my other brothers that there is a group of people willing to fight the Story and the Fates Themselves in order to accomplish this task. I must fight with them. To do that, and to heal this woman, I will need your body. Will you give it freely? I cannot take it by force. </em></p><p>     Don swallowed, held up a trembling finger. His eyes were tearing up again. He felt a droplet well over the edge and run down his cheek. “One last question: what is your name?”</p><p>     <em>And then you will say yes?</em> The creature asked. Don nodded, not trusting his voice not to crack right then. <em>Very well. My name is Gadreel</em>.</p><p>     “Okay then, Gadreel.” Don licked his lips again, that copper tang still clinging to them. He took a deep breath, wished he would have a sweeter aroma to sample before potentially signing his body away for the burning agony for whatever short time he had left on the Earth if he had judged this creature wrong, and then spoke. “Yes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>///////////////////////////////////</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Sam?” asked Jesse in a trembling tone, turning wide, shining eyes up at Sam. “Will your plan get you hurt?”</p><p>     Smiling gently, Sam ignored Gabriel in the doorway for the time being and instead moved so that he was kneeling in front of the young boy.</p><p>     “Hey, of course not,” he reached up to smooth back Jesse’s unruly hair with his free hand, gently tightening his grip on a wriggling Evan with the other. “It won’t hurt me. It’s not a <em>bad </em>plan, really. I think people just don’t want to follow it. Okay?”</p><p>     Jesse seemed to consider for a few moments, but then he gave a solid, trusting, nod. “Okay.”</p><p>     “Won’t hurt?” Gabriel’s tone was incredulous. “<em>Won’t hurt</em>?” His mouth opened and closed a few times, a choking splutter escaping, but little else. After a few moments, he appeared to gather himself. “I suppose you’re right. It won’t <em>hurt</em>. Never having existed at all won’t hurt <em>you</em>, at the very least.”</p><p>     Jesse gave a startled gasp (he wasn’t the only one), his arms flying out to cling to Sam’s flannel shirt. Sighing, he gently pressed his much larger hands over Jesse’s until his fingers were smoothed flat, then gently moved Jesse’s hands back down to the boy’s sides.</p><p>     Straightening, Sam turned around to face the room, wincing when he saw the incredulous faces of everyone there. When he dared a darting glance to John and Mary – his<em> parents</em> – even they had expressions of bewildered horror on their faces.</p><p>     “Not existin—” Dean was the first to break the silence, but Sam cut him off quicky.</p><p>     “It won’t hurt anyone,” Sam insisted, turning an imploring gaze on everyone in the room. “Who would it hurt?” Before anyone could argue that it would hurt them, Sam held up a hand, forestalled that argument. “If I never existed at all, then none of you would remember me. None of you would be missing anything. I mean, it’s not just what’s going on now, either. Think about it, about all the problems we’ve had in the last five years. Ellen, even Ash wouldn’t be dead if we did this.”</p><p>     “What about all the people you’ve saved?” asked Bobby, his voice gruff in a way Sam rarely heard it.</p><p>     “Dean would still have been there to do the job,” Sam pointed out, furrowing his brow. Gently brushing a finger down Evan’s cheek, he took a few steps backwards, sank down onto the sofa. The leather was wrinkly and soft, accepting him easily. “Those people still would have been saved.”</p><p>     “I can’t do this without you, Man,” Dean said, sounding so much like the way he used to talk to Sam that it ached, deep within Sam’s chest.</p><p>     “Come on, Dean,” Sam urged, looking up at his brother with pleading eyes. “Think about it. You <em>can </em>do it without me. You <em>should</em> do it without me. Think about all the problems I’ve caused. It would be <em>better</em> if you did it without me.”</p><p>     “No.”</p><p>     Weirdly, everyone else remained quiet, but Sam counted it as a blessing. He didn’t want to hear them. Not right then. In his periphery, he could see Mary – his mother – rubbing her throat. John was working his jaw, looking frustrated, while Lindsey repeatedly opened and closed her lips, almost as if she wanted to say something, but kept thinking better of it at the last moment. From the other side of the room, Sam could hear a weird, agitated humming coming from Jo, but when he shot her a look of displeasure, even she fell quiet.</p><p>     “Dean, you didn’t even think I could help with the big problem now until a few days ago.” Sam pointed out, urging his brother to see, to <em>understand</em>.</p><p>     “<em>So</em>?”</p><p>     “So let me do this. Let me help in the only way I can.”</p><p>     “<em>No</em>.”</p><p>     With that, Dean turned on his heel and stomped out of the room. His boots thumped loudly on the wooden floorboards, yet still Sam hadn’t been prepared for the shocking crack of the living room door slamming behind him. Neither had many other people, if the way half of them jumped was any indication.</p><p>     Sighing heavily, Sam leaned back into the sofa, taking small comfort from the way it moulded itself around him. A blanket slipped from the back of it, the corner bunching onto his shoulder, releasing a waft of freshness. He took a deep breath of it, wishing his brother would just <em>see</em>, would just<em> get</em> why his plan was the only one that made any sense. Closing his eyes, he groaned.</p><p>     Silence reigned.</p><p>     At first, Sam suspected that people were giving him a moment, that they had understood his plan, even Gabriel, but then the silence started getting prickly, pointed. Swallowing, Sam lifted his head from the back of the couch, directing a worried look at everyone collectively.</p><p>     “Somebody say something,” he asked, ignoring the way Evan gurgled quietly by his side.</p><p>     “I would say that that’s easier said than done,” Gabriel’s voice was still cool, unfriendly in a way Sam hadn’t heard it in a while. “However, I guess with your powers on the loose, it’s not easy to <em>say</em> or <em>do</em>.”</p><p>     For a brief moment, Sam blinked at Gabriel, uncomprehending. Then, it dawned on him, and he turned a newly worried look on the rest of his companions. Guilt sank like a knife into his chest.</p><p>     “I’m so sorry,” he choked. He felt his eyes sting, and he quickly closed them, pressing his thumb and index to the lids in order to force the tears back. “Guys, I really am. So sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”</p><p>     “Sam,” Gabriel snapped, catching his attention. “Calm down.”</p><p>     Gulping, Sam bit his lip and nodded, trying to regain some semblance of control over his rapidly accelerating breaths.</p><p>     He hadn’t meant to make his friends, his <em>family</em>, do anything against their will, and yet there they all were, looking distinctly unimpressed. Lindsey had a hand pressed to her throat, Bobby a scowl so annoyed that Sam feared he wouldn’t survive the scolding he would get.</p><p>     But maybe that was a good thing? If they realised how dangerous he was with his powers, how terrible he could be, then maybe they would <em>let</em> him go through with his plan. Maybe they would even help him, for old time’s sake.</p><p>     A flick far harder than necessary sent pain shooting through his ear, leaving it throbbing, aching. Flinching, Sam gasped and turned to Gabriel, raising his free hand to press against his ear. When Sam’s eyes fell on his face, the archangel let a small, vindictive smirk spread just ever-so-slightly wider. He felt something inside him snap, some pressure release, though he didn’t know what it was.</p><p>     “That’s better,” Ah. It had been his hold on his power.</p><p>     Sam turned to face Missouri. She was working her jaw.</p><p>     “Now you’ve snapped out of that, we can snap you out of this stupid idea you’ve got up there, Boy.” She pointed at her own head in emphasis. “Has it occurred to you that if you never exist at all, your son never exists at all.”</p><p>     Another stab of guilt wracked him, just as strong as the last. He barely resisted the urge to curl in, as if he was protecting his stomach from a blow.</p><p>     “Maybe…” he had to swallow back the sick feeling that arose within him for just thinking the words, “Maybe that’s for the best,” he bowed his head. “I’m not a good dad. I probably won’t live long enough to learn to be. I couldn’t ask any of you to take him for me. Dean— Dean wouldn’t. And Gabriel… Well, if Evan hadn’t existed, you would never have been forced to come out of hiding. Without me, without Evan – without <em>us</em> – the world would be a better place. For all of you.”  </p><p>     “How can you say that?” declared a distressed voice. Sam quickly placed it as Lindsey’s, had only struggled because he hadn’t heard her sounding so tremendously upset before. “If I had never met you, then I would still be working in that bar, alone, abandoned by my family and doing nothing with my life.”</p><p>     Again, that stab of guilt.</p><p>     “I’m sorry you wouldn’t get that Lindsey, really I am,” Sam admitted, throat tightening. A lump was forming, making it hard to swallow, hard to<em> breathe</em>. “But that’s a small thing compared to literally every life on Earth. Without me, there would be no apocalypse, no vessel for Lucifer. Without me, you guys wouldn’t have been forced into silence with my demonic powers, either.” Imploringly, he looked around the room, ignoring Gabriel’s snappish command to get better at using his powers, then. “That’s better. That’s better, isn’t it?”</p><p>     “Apocalypse?” John asked, but Sam didn’t want to elaborate and it seemed like nobody else did, either. Certainly, Gabriel was too busy muttering something that sounded like ‘not demonic’ under his breath. Everyone else was busy exchanging imploring, soulful glances amongst themselves. “Lucifer?”</p><p>     “Guys, it’s not like you’d miss me,” he pointed out, drawing Evan even closer to his chest. “It’s not like I’m killing myself. I would never have existed. It’s not the same. You guys wouldn’t know.”</p><p>     “<em>I </em>would know,” Sam’s head whipped around to face Gabriel, who was still standing in that stance of furious righteousness. However, underneath that anger, there was something else, something delicate, like a blade honed too thin, something ready to crack and crumble at any moment. Sam didn’t understand it, not one bit. “<em>I</em> would remember this, the original timeline. The true one.”</p><p>     “Well, then,” Sam shrugged, not sure what else he could offer. “You would have got what you wanted.”</p><p>     Suddenly, the prickling sensation in the room heightened, transforming from needles that had been teasingly brushing skin to knives, hovering ominously close. Swallowing, Sam turned his gaze to Gabriel, noticing from the corner of his eyes that most other occupants of the room had done the same thing.</p><p>     Gabriel, evidently uncaring of all the eyes on him, stalked forwards.</p><p>     Before Sam knew it, the archangel was in his personal space, hot breath that he didn’t even need to breathe curling against Sam’s cheeks, his jawline, a warning heat kissing his skin. Steadily, methodically, Gabriel pried Evan away from Sam’s arms – gentle, so gentle, but with every intention of removing the baby from Sam’s grasp – then stalked over to Missouri, handing the child over. That task done, a mysterious nod shared between them, Gabriel retraced his own steps. This time, though, he didn’t stop in front of Sam.</p><p>     Instead, he bent, grasped Sam’s upper arm in a too-tight grip, one that Sam knew would leave a bruise later, and hauled him out of his seat. With a snap of his fingers, the archangel sent the living room door blowing open, so hard Sam feared the doorhandle had knocked a hole in the plaster. From them faint crumbling sound he could hear only just barely over the pounding of his heart in his head, he was correct.</p><p>     Then, before he knew it, Gabriel was pushing Sam through the door, dragging him down the hallway. They only stopped when they reached the front door.</p><p>     “How <em>dare</em> you?” Gabriel hissed, leaving Sam to blink at him in bewilderment. “How <em>dare </em>you imply that I would get what I want. How <em>dare</em> you?”</p><p>     “Well,” Sam licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Gabriel’s, on the flame that burned behind those amber-whiskey irises. “Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>     “Wouldn’t I, he asks,” Gabriel’s voice was wild, like the ocean in storm, a hiss and a growl and a rumble all at once. “Wouldn’t I?” Eyes flashing, lips twisted into an ugly scowl, Gabriel finished with a near-feral, “<em>No</em>.”</p><p>     Sam’s tongue darted over his lower lip. In his chest, his heart began to pick up speed even further still, and he felt as his breathing began to quicken. His body was reacting the same way it did before he stepped from the Impala and onto the battle ground of the hunt.</p><p>     “I don’t understand,” he admitted, taking a small step back. To his surprise and discomfort, Gabriel followed him. The other man, despite his shorter stature, had his face <em>incredibly</em> close to Sam’s, and he <em>refused to move it away</em>. “Why not? You wanted this, back when we first met.” He paused, added, “Again.”</p><p>    “Oh, I wanted it from when we first met, don’t you worry about that,” Gabriel confirmed, his eyes darkening. He paced further forwards again, and those knives against Sam’s skin drew ever closer to drawing blood. He was hyper-aware of their presence, and yet also hyper-aware of where they <em>weren’t</em>. Only where Gabriel stood were there no readied blades, and Sam was under no misapprehension that it was because Gabriel was safe right then. A finger rose between them, pointing accusingly at Sam. “I wanted it when you met me as Loki. I wanted it when I trapped you in that loop. I wanted it when I found you with Evan, and I <em>even</em> wanted it when I brought you into my own home. For you to have never existed, that would have been a dream come true.” That finger jabbed sharply into Sam’s chest, calling forward another finger-spot bruise, and then kept jabbing along with Gabriel’s next words. “But I <em>don’t. Want it</em>. <em>Now</em>.”  </p><p>     Sam was stunned to silence.</p><p>     His lips parted, his tongue darted out, he blinked at Gabriel.</p><p>     Finally, mustering up the only words his stunned brain could manage, Sam asked, “What?” Then, clearer, because he thought Gabriel ought to know. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>     Gabriel still looked ferocious, fearsome, tiger-sharp and lion-deadly, but there was a softening in those eyes as well. The knives surrounding Sam backed off, just a little.</p><p>     “I risk my identity for you. I offer to teach you. I plant myself firmly down on your side. I promise to fight a <em>war</em> for you,” Gabriel listed, his hand coming up to cup the back of Sam’s neck, to draw his head down until they were pressed forehead-to-forehead, no matter the fact that Gabriel had to stand on tip-toes to manage it. “And you <em>don’t know what that means</em>?”</p><p>     Sam shook his head, careful not to dislodge Gabriel.</p><p>     The archangel sighed, just a little. This close, Sam could feel the breath brushing against his skin, felt a warmth rise to his face. He licked his lips again, then wondered why he had done that. It felt like he was waiting for something, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe, he supposed, an answer.</p><p>     “It means I care about you, Sam,” Gabriel’s voice wasn’t quite a whisper, but it wasn’t loud enough to carry very far, either. “I’ve planted myself on your side; I don’t want you to die, and I certainly don’t want you to never have existed.” Gabriel’s other hand came up to brush careful fingers against Sam’s cheek. He flinched just a little, just enough that Gabriel let out a quietly apologetic chuckle, before dropping his hand back down to rest against Sam’s chest, right over his still-too-heavily beating heart. “It means I’m your <em>friend</em>, Sam Winchester, and I—”</p><p>     “<em>Winchester</em>?” Sam and Gabriel jumped apart, both wide-eyed in shock. “<em>Winchester</em>? Sam and Dean <em>Winchester</em>? Samuel and Deanna. <em>Winchester</em>?”</p><p>     “Oh no,” Gabriel muttered, eyes wider than Sam had ever seen them before. “Oh dear.”</p><p>     Sam swallowed, cursing himself internally for not having noticed John creeping up in the hall. He certainly didn’t understand how <em>Gabriel </em>hadn’t noticed. He was an <em>archangel</em>. Yet, when Sam finally drew up the courage to turn his head – and ever-so-slowly did he do it, too – there John was, standing staring at them, eyes wide, face pale, lips slack with shock.</p><p>     He blinked at them.</p><p>     He blinked at them again.</p><p>     He appeared to be waiting for something.</p><p>     Then, with quite the air of shocked impatience, his lips formed the question once more.</p><p>     “<em>Winchester</em>?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone. Just changed the status of this work to on hiatus for now. Currently dealing with personal family issues, and do not have the time or mindset to write at the moment. I hope to get back to this soon, but cannot give you a date. So sorry! In the meanwhile, have a great time. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>